


Dreams

by NeverBeyondRedemption



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beast - Freeform, Childhood, Conspiracy, Dreams, Durmstrang, F/M, Family, Friendship, Hogwarts, Magic, Pre-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Revolution, Rituals, Time Travel, coven - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 87
Words: 218,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24089296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverBeyondRedemption/pseuds/NeverBeyondRedemption
Summary: A lonely girl wished for a friend, a lonely boy wished for a companion. Accidental magic is a powerful thing.Every night Hermione dreams of a boy who thinks he’s a wizard. A strange English girl keeps bypassing the wards and visiting Gellert in his family home.With so much in common, they were bound to become friends.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 223
Kudos: 473
Collections: Tomione





	1. Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to start by dedicating this story to my Granny; without her I never would have published something so different.
> 
> Another Gellert/Hermione story. I know, I write too many of them. This one is very different though, slower moving and more about them than the fight against Voldemort. They start out young and will likely stay young for about half the fic, so please be patient.
> 
> Before we begin though, I believe 11 to be a very arbitrary age to start learning magic - other than it conveniently being the age that primary school finishes in the UK. I can’t see any reason why a family like my Grindelwald family wouldn’t start teaching their son magic as soon as he showed he had it. After all, you wouldn’t want your heir to be seen to struggle in class, and time at school could be much better spent forging connections and alliances than learning.
> 
> WARNING - this fic contains child abuse. A significant portion is set in the 1800’s, when child abuse was acceptable and almost expected. That doesn’t justify it now and I in no way support it, but it did happen when this was set and there would have been no consideration of how unfair it was. Then, that was life.

‘Ew.’ Jessica Manly sneered in the direction of Hermione’s lunch. She flushed and turned the box so that the lid disguised the contents. Jessica peeled open one of the brightly coloured wrappers in her own lunch, garnering pleas from the other girls to share. Hermione watched wistfully as small pieces of chocolate were distributed among the group, her brief moment of popularity ruined by a single word.

She picked up one of her carrot sticks and glared at it resentfully, before dropping it back into her box. She left the table without anyone noticing and headed for the library. Jessica had glossed past it on her tour, pointing out the doors but not going inside, now a Hermione had almost her entire lunch time to explore.

A teacher took her outdoor slip as she went back inside, and the librarian welcomed her with a measure of surprise as she entered. She introduced herself like her mother had taught her; offering her hand and shaking the librarian’s, maintaining eye contact all the time. Then she was free to wander the shelves to her heart’s content... all four of them.

Five minutes later she held ‘The Animals of Farthing Wood’ in one hand and ‘Pretty Women’ in the other whilst the librarian clucked about age appropriateness and offered her ‘Peter Rabbit’. In the end she had to leave ‘Pretty Women’, and resolved to bring her own books in future.

There was a large tree in the quad which seemed wonderfully quiet and she quickly claimed it, spreading out her new blazer to sit on and pulling out her lunch again. She opened the book on her lap but ended up staring wistfully at the tight cluster of other year 4 girls. Jessica was applying lip gloss in a small glittery compact mirror, to the admiration of all her fellows.

Hermione forced herself back to her books.

She sat alone at the front of maths and art, and was resigned to her status as loner by the time her parents picked her up at 3. She should have known better than to think she would be able to make friends at this new school. She was a weirdo, a freak, boring... she’d been called many names at her last school and she was almost convinced they were true.

Her parents asked how her day went, her mother tutted at her unfinished lunch and her father offered to enrol her in piano lessons. She hated piano, but agreed anyway because it would make him happy. Her father had the most wonderful, elegant piano hands and he played wonderfully. Her mother would often sing along with him, her voice clear and magical. Hermione’s own voice lacked that bell like clarity, so piano it would be.

She nodded off all their chatter, then escaped to her room where she could read her books and pretend to be in a different world. One where she wasn’t bookish and weird and people respected how clever she was instead of whether she had chocolate and sparkly mirrors.

She wished, that night, that someday she would meet someone like that, someone who was as fond of learning as she was, who appreciated books and who was as strange as she was.

.............................................................................................................................................................

He hurried down the corridor, his mother’s screeched summons ringing in his ears. She’d found his potion in the lab, he knew he hadn’t hidden it well enough... or perhaps she had found out about his tutor’s continued frustration with his calligraphy. He tried, he honestly did, but he just couldn’t get the flowing shapes right.

She was waiting in the morning room, cutting an impressive figure against the streams of morning light. His mother always dressed as if she were about to go out, dark robes only a shade above mourning and bedecked in jewels that only a house like theirs could afford. She turned, her dark hair somehow staying perfectly smooth and glossy as she moved.

‘It has come to my attention that you have been sullying yourself.’ Her voice chilled his blood in his veins and he wished for nothing more than to disappear. It had only been once, an experiment, desperation. He couldn’t believe she’d found out. He knew better than to argue, and he knew better than to show how terrified he was. ‘If you wish to scorn your gift, if you wish to run amok with muggles, I shall adjust your status to suit.’ She threatened. His eyes flicked to her drawn wand. ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

‘No, Mother.’ He muttered, then corrected himself, projecting his words so that she could hear them and forcing his chin up.

‘Did you find anything of value in the village?’ The words dripped with scorn.

‘No Mother.’

‘So you were wasting time, time that could have been spent preparing yourself for your future.’ Her heels clicked against the tiles as she approached, her wand forcing his chin up so that their eyes met. He forced his mind clear but her legilimency was too strong for him, and she tore painfully through his mind. He cried out, claw-like fingers digging into his chin to hold him up as his knees threatened to collapse. She watched his memories of the night with scorn, then flicked through his lessons, he stopped fighting. There was nothing left to hide.

She dropped him with a sniff. His knees cracked against the floor and his arms snapped out to catch him instinctively. His mother’s foot lashed out, hitting his extended wrist with a snap and white hot pain turned his vision blank. He whimpered, cradling it to his chest, barely catching her muttered assessment of his strength.

A heavy black book landed in front of him with a dull thud and he had to repress a moan. He knew this punishment, but he’d never had it inflicted so severely before. Never upon himself - his belongings, his owl, even his beautiful horse, never himself. The pain was so blinding, throbbing, making his vision pulse, he doubted he could do it.

‘I will not see you until next week.’ His mother dismissed, he forced himself to stand, grab the grimmoire and shuffle from the room. Tears streamed down his face, so he kept his head bowed to hide them. He needn’t have worried, his mother was already facing back out over the estate, her son forgotten.

He didn’t remember the walk back to his rooms, but he remembered forcing himself to uncurl from his painful ball and unwrap the grimmoire from it’s velvet wrapping. The letters blurred as he scanned the index, different handwritings varying as generations of his family added to the book. He was lucky, this was a newer one.

The page on broken bones was early, he flicked to it, then forced himself to read the spell through his pain. His elf could fetch ingredients, that was the rule, but he had to fix the damage himself.

He remembered the first time this had happened, three years ago on his seventh birthday when he had performed his first accidental magic. His mother had held the traditional celebrations, gifting him his first wand from the family collection and announced his birth to society. Then she’d handed him the grimmoire and told him to repair his own windows. The freezing mountain air had battered him for weeks as he struggled with the simple enchantment. Next had been his owls wing, broken for interrupting the visiting minister. Heirs were to be seen and not heard, to learn from their betters. His horses’ leg had been broken when he’d ridden instead of attending a runes lesson...

He was familiar with the spell, sage leaves crushed with milk; difficult to do with only one hand. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and tapped the mortar three times, reading the spell out. He bit down on his leather belt as he daubed the mixture over the broken bone and repeated the incantation. His world went red, then white, then black.

He woke up about an hour later, a dull ache in his arm remained but nothing like the blinding pain of before. He flexed his fingers, one at a time. There was no glow of pride anymore, there had been once, but now he knew that this kind of thing was to be expected. If he couldn’t heal himself by 10, he could hardly call himself a wizard.

That didn’t stop him from climbing into the window seat, curling up beneath one of the furs there and peering down into the village below wistfully. They were an hours ride away, but from his castle window he could see the villagers in the fields as they harvested.

The day down in the village had been wonderful, ironically more magical than any spent in his home. They had been suspicious at first, his clothes finer and his accent refined, but they had let him join in their games soon enough. He’d kicked a lumpy leather ball around the street and tossed little wooden rings over sticks in the ground. They’d told jokes and chatted about girls without any of the inhibitions that plagued the heir to an influential family. But he couldn’t go again; next time it wouldn’t be a broken wrist, it would be worse. His mother could never catch him infringing twice.

Yet, still, he closed his eyes for a moment and wished. He wished that he could have a friend like that.

There was a soft pop, and he opened his eyes in surprise. Then he scrambled back, hitting the window and banging his newly healed arm against the wall.

There was a girl in his bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily and blinking at their surroundings with more than a little confusion


	2. Wizard

Hermione woke up in a different bed. It was larger and softer than anything she had ever felt, but with a strange weight to the covers. She blinked, confused to see a canopy above her head, which she followed to a tall wooden post. She blinked again. She was in a proper princess bed.

She sat up and caught sight of a tapestry hanging on the far wall, ornate carved wooden dressers and shelves fitted to curved stone walls. A massive pair of double doors were closed, and then she caught sight of the boy by the window. He was silhouetted against the bright sunlight that poured through the arched stone windows.

‘Wer bist du?’ The boy asked, standing quickly and pointing a long wooden stick at her.

‘Who are you?’ She demanded in return, ‘where is this?’

For a moment that both just stared at each other and the difficulty of the situation suddenly occurred to her. She was pretty sure he was speaking German, although how she’d magically moved to Germany in her sleep was a mystery. Her German from school was scratchy at best, but she decided to give it a try.

‘Ich bin Hermione Granger.’ She said slowly. The boy stepped down from the window and suddenly she could see his features more clearly. He wore old fashioned clothes - woollen trousers held up by bracers and a vest buttoned up over a crisp white shirt. He was pale and his hair was a honey gold. He still clutched that strange wooden stick, but he wasn’t pointing it at her now.

‘Was machst du in meinem Haus?’ The boy demanded and she desperately tried to decipher his meaning. Haus... that was probably house, meinem meant my. He probably wanted to know how she’d ended up in his house, or why she was there, but she didn’t know and she had no idea how to tell him that.

‘Ich spreche Englisch.’ She tried hopelessly, shrugging. The boy made a noise of realisation.

‘I am Gellert Grindelwald.’ He said haltingly. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I don’t know.’ Hermione said, then amended as the words came to her, ‘Ich weiss night.’

‘You are which.’ He said, she wasn’t sure if it was meant as a statement or a question, the inflection was wrong and the accent so thick that she could believe she had misunderstood.

‘English.’ She said it once, then tried to say it again in a German accent. The boy frowned and shook his head.

‘Nein, are you a witch.’ This time he was much clearer and she frowned, sure that he was joking. She gave an uncertain laugh, then paused when he didn’t join in.

‘What, are you a wizard?’ She giggled, then coughed when he nodded seriously. ‘Well, I’ll be a witch then, but I don’t have a wand like yours.’ She declared. The boy looked puzzled as he deciphered this, and Hermione desperately tried to figure out if she could say that in German. She eventually managed to stumble out some combinations of ‘ich’ and ‘bin’ that she thought might be close and the boy smiled, relaxing considerably. She wondered if he had been nervous that she might think him weird.

‘How old?’ He asked curiously, looking her up and down as if hoping to guess from her appearance. She glanced down at herself, finding that she was wearing her favourite jumper and skirt.

‘8’ She said with some measure of pride. He was older than her she could tell, but he was very serious and in those funny old clothes he looked even older.

‘Ah, you get wand soon. 10’ he replied, gesturing to himself.

She wandered closer, peering out of the window behind him. This was a dream, she decided. The scenery was stunning, the building she was in was a genuine castle with turrets and walls and towers, perched on a rocky outcrop that looked over the mouth of a valley and onto a wide, flat plain. There were people working in the fields with carts pulled by actual horses. Definitely dreaming.

She’d never had a dream where she needed to speak a different language though.

So she was dreaming that she was in the past some time, and in a castle with a strange German boy who thought he was a wizard.

She spotted a thick book on the ground, heavy and leather and decorated with gold on the cover. She sidled over to it, and the boy followed her.

‘Was ist das?’ She asked, pointing at the lettering on the front. It was a word she didn’t know.

‘My family magic.’ The boy replied. He picked up the book and cradled it slightly, Hermione felt a tingle of jealousy and had to remind herself it was just a dream. Of course this boy would have wonderful looking books, he was imaginary.

She didn’t know how to ask if she could see it, so instead she just held her hands out and said please. The boy looked between the book and her a couple of times, then sat on the bed and patted the spot beside him. She took it, sinking into the soft mattress and he opened the book on their laps. In halting English he pointed out the spells he knew, miming those he didn’t know the words for. The book was hand written in beautiful flowing calligraphy and Hermione could just imagine some medieval lady writing this beautiful script by candlelight at a desk in front of a roaring fire.

It was without a doubt the best afternoon of her life. She spent several hours sitting with Gellert and looking through the book. There were all sorts of spells, potions and even neat maps of places certain plants could be gathered. He was a good actor, and she would say the word in English when she guessed it. He would repeat the word in his strong accent, then say the word in German and she would echo him.

She didn’t know if she could learn a new language in her sleep, so she suspected that the words might be gobbledegook, but it was still fun. Her imaginary friend was eager to learn, in fact they just slid into learning and teaching with no discussion.

He had other books too, all with the same beautiful leather bindings and gold decorations. Some were printed, but most were hand written. She particularly loved the moving illustrations in some of them; colourful dragons and an animal with a bird’s head and horse’s body that she hadn’t been able to guess. Gellert had called it a hippogif.

He said he had his own Kelpe, which was a kind of horse. There were little creatures that looked like evil Christmas elves that kept his room clean like servants and fairies that were poisonous if they bit you. He also had a broomstick to fly on, although he claimed he wasn’t supposed to leave his rooms. He seemed both puzzled and amused by her lack of knowledge; perhaps the only flaw in her imaginary friend was that he could be slightly snobby. She supposed she probably would be too if she lived in a castle.

The sun set as they sat on the window seat, looking out over the valley. They were silent, communication too difficult with the language difference to bother talking and breaking the tranquility. It wasn’t something she found many other children her age could manage, so it was nice to just sit with someone her age to enjoy the scenery. It was, she decided, why other children couldn’t read such advanced books, they couldn’t enjoy sitting for a moment. Particularly not boys, she decided with distaste. Perhaps it was because he was older... not that she’d observed the characteristic in the year 6 boys at school.

A voice called her name, sounding distant and far off. She glanced around, realising it sounded like her mother. Her name was called again, and she looked around again. It sounded like the call was inside her head, she couldn’t pinpoint the direction she needed to go. Gellert was looking at her strangely now, as though he couldn’t hear her mother.

‘I think I need to go to school.’ Hermione said, ‘Ich zur Schule.’ She added at his incomprehension. She had the sentence wrong, but he understood because his eyes widened and he opened his mouth to reply.

She blinked and he was gone. She was back in her own bed, looking at her mother peering through the door. It was morning, weak sunlight filtering through her window. Her school uniform sat ready on her chair and the German boy was nowhere to be seen.


	3. Kelpie

She would be an immensely powerful witch, Gellert decided. His first accidental magic had been to set fire to his bedroom, and the force of his spell had been a point of pride to his mother. Accidentally performing international apparition... not to mention somehow bypassing all the wards of the castle. That was a feat that put his to shame.

She was not of superior upbringing. She knew too little for even a language difference to excuse and her expression had been one of indulgence when he showed her his magical zoology book. But that had never been of much concern to his family, they worshipped power and matches were made between the powerful with no consideration for their ancestry. Unlike those foolish ‘sacred 28’ who weakened their lines and magic with such unimportant selectivity.

So long as she could adapt and was willing to learn the ancient traditions, his mother would be more than happy for them to be companions. In fact, she would probably sponsor the young witch. After all, accidental international apparition before she’d even received her wand was nothing to be scorned.

He tapped his own wand against his desk and refocused on the task at hand before his tutor could notice his distraction. The runic declensions of Seth sat before him, elegantly written by his tutor. His own scratchy calligraphy filled the spaces beside them. A cane cracked into the deck in front of him.

‘Time is up.’ His tutor purred. ‘Fifth declension.’

The sheet was snapped away from his sight and Gellert squinted into space.

‘Ichi Seth, Gor Set, Par, Der Sethe...’ he paused again, wracking his brain.

‘Quickly now. Decline Tehth.’

‘Ichi Tehth, Gor Teht, Par, Der Tehthe, Zu Tehto...’ the cane snapped across his knuckles.

‘No, you were not concentrating. Zu Tehtus, Sine Tehto. Again, Seth.’

Gellert suppressed a groan and recited Seth, then Tehth, then moved on to Crath and Shuth until runic words were flying around his head in abstract patterns and making no sense at all. He had a vague awareness of the meanings of each word, but he couldn’t remember if Crath was house or fire and he really hoped the lesson would end soon before he was asked.

‘Dismissed.’ Finally, ‘I will see you at 9 for astronomy.’

Gellert had bowed his way out before the tutor had even finished speaking. Tuesdays were his favourite day; with Astronomy in the evening he got the whole afternoon to spend as he wished. He rushed up to his room to grab a cloak, only just managing to maintain a steady speed the whole way. Just because he couldn’t wait to see his Kelpie didn’t mean he was willing to risk being caught running in the house.

He dashed to his wardrobe and pulled out his riding cloak and a hat, throwing it over a chair and fingers fumbling to unbutton his shirt. His free hand scooped a darker coloured one from his dresser, and he was about to shrug the item off completely when a shy voice greeted him from across the room.

He jumped and spun to face her, snatching his shirt shut again.

‘Hermione... Fräulein Granger...’ he stuttered, cheeks flaring pink. She blushed delicately and offered to look away, to which he hastily agreed, diving behind the screen he’d never used to finish changing.

He quickly pulled on riding clothes, emerging a moment later to find her still sitting on his bed, legs crossed beneath one of the strange short skirts she had worn last time. He looked away quickly before he could be caught staring at the pale strip of skin between her tall socks and the hem of her skirt.

‘Are you going?’ She asked shyly in faltering German. He nodded, and she looked a little crestfallen. So he offered for her to come with him. She jumped up eagerly, brushing her skirt straight - which did nothing to hide her knees - and looked at him expectantly.

‘You have a cloak?’ He asked vainly. She obviously didn’t have anything except what she was wearing. At least, he decided, turning back to his wardrobe, he could give her a full length cloak which would cover that ridiculously short skirt. He dug around for a moment before finally finding one of his old ones. It was rough enough to be worn riding, but not so rough that she would be embarrassed to wear it. He pulled a fur hat out too, it was too warm for one still, but he could hardly expect a young woman to be out with a boy’s cap, let alone bare headed.

The witch twirled the cloak around her shoulders with a happy grin and pulled the hat over her head. She looked like a proper German girl with her two thick braids and the fur hat snug on her head.

She loved the walk down to the gardens, gasping at every portrait they passed and stopping to look at suits or armour. He was itching to get outside, but was happy listening to her muttering away in English as she spotted each new wonder. His mother wouldn’t catch them, she never deigned to set foot in the children’s wing, so they meandered down through the hallways and spiral staircases. He took a secret underground passageway to bypass the gardens - they’d never get away, and with her curiosity would almost certainly run afoul of a Creeping Rose.

The stables themselves were large and he breathed in the scent of fresh hay. The four sleipnir that pulled the carriage stuck their heads over their doors, whuffing their honeyed mead smelling breath across his face. Hermione gaped up at their massive grey heads, then crouched to look beneath the doors at their eight feet.

‘Sleipnir.’ She whispered, then hurried to the next set of stalls. These held the Granians, his mother’s riding horses. They were fast and sleek, dappled with white and silver across their grey coats. His mother perhaps came as close to loving these steeds as she ever had to a living thing, and they had the largest stalls so that they could spread their wings.

He passed the Granians and went straight to the last stall. This one smelled of damp; a small, deep pond that he had conjured himself was the only feature. He picked up a small square of meat from the stasis barrel at the end of the hall and tossed it into the pond. It landed with a small plop and floated, ripples bouncing outwards from it.

Hermione climbed up the door a little so that she could see in, huffing a little at the effort of clinging on.

Gellert drummed his fingers impatiently and forced himself not to toss in another piece. Kelpie would be aware of it and if he started tossing in two pieces... Kelpies were very smart and he would quickly begin to wait for the second before coming if he thought it would happen.

A moment later a glossy black snout rose out of the water and snapped up the square. The witch beside him squeaked and fell off the door.

Silence again.

Gellert was well accustomed to Kelpie’s tricks by now, so he ducked behind the door. With a noise like a torrential downpour, water sprayed over the door, arching down and soaking the floor in front of them. A flatter of hooves and a soft nicker, and Kelpie’s dripping wet nose was reaching down to nuzzle his hair. He laughed and held out another treat for him; soft lips brushing his Palm as it was taken.

‘Hermione, that is Kelpie.’ He introduced her to the beast and guided her hand to his face so that she could pat him. She smiled at him and ran her hand up his wet neck and beneath the dripping mane. Kelpie whickered appreciatively.

Gellert pulled his tack off the hooks beside the stall and let himself in. With practiced ease he slipped the bit between snapping fangs and fastened it, then climbed onto the manger to toss the impermeable blanket across his back.

‘Stop water.’ He told Hermione, gesturing to the thin embroidered blanket that draped over most of Kelpie’s body. He led Kelpie out to where Hermione waited.

‘I can’t ride.’ She said in English, shaking her head emphatically. ‘No horse.’ She managed in German.

Gellert shrugged. She could just sit in front of him then, he could hold her on.

‘Up.’ He said, gesturing to the set of stairs next to the stall. She paled. One of the Granians poked its head out of the stall to see what was going on.

‘Up here.’ He patted the spot he wanted her to sit. ‘I go here.’ He patted further back.

She shakily climbed the stairs then managed to inelegantly wriggle onto the beast’s back. He flapped his hands between her knees and the beast, then did the same to her feet.

‘Do not kick.’ He said, then vaulted up from the stairs and landed softly behind her. He forced Kelpie to walk slowly down the driveway, letting Hermione grow accustomed to the gentle sway of his gait. She was quite a bit shorter than him and her fur hat tickled his nose. She had her hands knotted in Kelpie’s mane, but he could tell her legs were loose as he’d told her.

The metallic sentinel dragons withdrew their wings as they approached, allowing them to pass through to the valley. The muggle repelling charm stretched all the way to the bottom of the outcrop the castle was built on, and the young witch gradually relaxed as they meandered down the long driveway. Occasionally he would point out a creature as they went past, then Kelpie would snap at it as if hoping for a snack and they would both laugh.

It was a relaxing afternoon, the sun was warm and the steady pace of his Kelpie made a hypnotic clop clop against the paved driveway. Gnither bugs hummed steadily, their drone a lower pitch than the bees and the occasional flash of bright colour marked fittertits as they gathered fruit to pulp for winter. The trees were still green, but the occasional speck of faun of gold hinted at the change that would come in the next weeks.

‘I like this.’ Hermione said in German. ‘Quickly.’ Which seemed a little random, she laughed after a moment and corrected herself to say beautiful. He chuckled with her and brought Kelpie to a halt in front of another set of gates.

Mighty walls towered above their heads, disguised by a thick layer of ivy. The gates themselves were solid iron, rusted and unwelcoming in both directions. He didn’t think they could open anymore, it had been so long since the muggles had called the Grindelwald family their rulers and made the trek to the castle to court. This was the boundary of the muggle repelling charm and he dared not go through.

He turned Kelpie’s head reluctantly and they began the climb back to the castle. The sun was beginning to edge towards the horizon; it had taken longer than expected to get down the hill at such a sedate pace.

‘Fast?’ He asked, using the same upwards infection towards the end of the word as she did when she asked a question.

She was looking off into the distance, and glanced up at his words.

‘I need to go.’ She replied, glancing into the distance again. Then she was gone, her borrowed cloak crumpling in front of him. He snatched the hat before it could roll to the floor, marvelling at how it was still warm.

He glanced up at the castle again, ignoring the pang of loss in his chest.

‘Let’s go home, Kelpie.’ He muttered to his beast, tapping his heels to the flanks beneath the cloth. Kelpie surged forwards, the landscape around them blurring as wind whipped at Gellert’s hair and clothes.


	4. Wands

She dreamed of Gellert every night that week and each dream held a magical adventure that she was amazed her mind had come up with. They’d ridden his carnivorous water horse, gone digging for niffler treasure in the forest, visited a waterfall in the valley and read fairytales in a beauty-and-the-beast library. 

She knew that Gellert was imaginary and that it was probably terribly unhealthy to be so attached to a dream but she found herself beginning to think she’d found a friend. She always felt better, less isolated when she woke up in the morning and she couldn’t wait to go to bed in the evenings.

Her mother remarked on the difference and Hermione just smiled and claimed she was kept very busy at her new school.

She snuggled deep into her covers and shut her eyes. A moment later she was sitting on Gellert’s bed in the early morning. She could hear him moving behind the screen, having begun changing there after being caught twice topless by Hermione’s appearance. She didn’t think it was so bad, but Gellert seemed mortified.

‘Guten Morgen,’ She greeted. Gellert replied through the screen, then emerged a moment later in very different attire to normal. His shirt was crisp and white, starched collar turned up with a tie hanging undone around his neck. He held a cuff link in his mouth, and was busy fastening the other which seemed an involved procedure.

‘Let me help.’ She told him, stepping forwards and taking the little silver piece and fastening it through the stiff material of his cuffs. He thanked her, then ran a comb through his hair, smoothing it into smooth gold waves.

‘I meet my mother today.’ He informed her apologetically. Hermione frowned, wondering why he was getting dressed up if that’s all he was doing.

‘May I meet her too? It would be terribly rude of me to keep visiting without meeting my hostess.’ She asked, then realised there was no way he would have understood that. She frowned but couldn’t come up with a translation, or even a way to act it out.

‘You want to come?’ Gellert asked nervously, perhaps missing the exact sentence but somehow having got her meaning. She nodded shyly and he looked her over with a critical expression. Finally he seemed to come to a decision and shrugged. He went to his wardrobe and pulled out a cloak, this one very different to her usual one. The hood was trimmed in soft fur, the fabric midnight black and the clasps made of silver metal.

‘She is... strong. You must be silent.’ He said firmly, sweeping up a smart jacket and her usual fur hat. She fitted the familiar item on her head, glanced in the mirror and arranged her fringe neatly before trailing through the door he held open for her. He tied his tie as they walked and one of the many talking portraits snapped at him that it was skewed. He scowled at it but adjusted his tie anyway. Hermione thought it seemed perfect, better than any tie she’d ever tied.

They passed through a different set of corridors, turning right where they usually turned left. The decorations became much grander; arching windows and tasseled drapes, and gold gilded embellishments decorating the ceilings. Landscape paintings meters across filled with brightly dressed figures bedecked the walls. Pale parquet floors polished to reflect her face were padded by thick, luxurious blue carpets. She didn’t have time to stop and stare however, Gellert seemed to be in a rush, hurrying past a fascinating crystal witch’s cauldron that she was dying to look at. She followed him without protest, clearly visiting his mother was a big deal, a very different affair than seeing hers.

They eventually stopped at a set of ornate white and silver double doors. Unicorns as tall as her bed were locked in battle, one on each door with their horns crossing so far above her head that she had to crane her head to see them.

‘Here. I speak.’ He instructed, then he turned and knocked smartly on the door.

‘Herein’ A cool voice instructed. Gellert glanced at her once more, then pushed the door open and slipped through the gap. She caught sight of his bow as the door shut and wondered just how formal his mother was. She’d never heard of a family where the son had to get dressed up and bow whenever he met with his mother.

The wait felt endless; she didn’t want to go too far from the door in case she missed her summons. She practiced her curtseys, determined to not look like a fool in front of Gellert’s mother.

The door opened.

Gellert beckoned through the gap and she followed him into a large room. She would call it a living room but it seemed too formal. She caught sight of Gellert’s mother and quickly remembered to curtesy. The movement felt unfamiliar and clumsy, but she can’t have done it too badly because she received no reprimand. Gellert stood stiff as a soldier beside her.

‘Gellert tells me you are from England.’ The woman said. She was incredibly tall, dressed in a stormy grey silk dress. Her dress had a crinoline, creating a wide skirt that made her waist look tiny, even though she didn’t wear a corset. Silvery grey hair was scraped into a complex hairstyle beneath a matching grey hat, decorated with long emerald feathers. She held her hands clasped in front of her, a thin stick - wand - held delicately between gloved fingers.

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ She replied, nodding her head. Immediately she was overcome with doubt, fearing that she should have said “my lady.”

The intimidating woman lifted her chin, surveying her critically.

‘Remove that cloak. Let me see you.’ Came the order. Hermione obediently unfastened the cloak and took it off, passing it to Gellert who tucked it smartly over his arm. Mrs. Grindelwald directed her to step forwards a couple of steps and circled her. She resisted the urge to shift self-consciously.

The woman said something to Gellert in German, words snapping off her tongue. She lifted Hermione’s braid and rubbed the tail between her fingers.

Gellert replied, equally as fast and Hermione couldn’t catch a single word. Mrs. Grindelwald kept asking questions; if Hermione could read, what her parent’s station was, if she knew any other languages.

‘Verlässt Uns!’ The older woman ordered and Gellert bowed before smartly leaving the room. The door shut behind him with an ominous clunk. Hermione swallowed.

‘You are not as powerful as Gellert believes.’ The woman informed her smartly, gliding to a large winged armchair and somehow managing to perch delicately despite her skirts. ‘But you are still strong, certainly stronger than most. It is your compatibility that I have rarely seen. Your magic is well matched, enough you to have somehow worked together to bring you here, despite the differences.’ She paused for a moment and Hermione felt like her very mind was being read.

‘Very well.’ She seemed to decided suddenly, ‘I shall sponsor you, but you will be my son’s responsibility. If, in a year, you meet my expectations, I shall bring you into the family magic.’

Hermione really had no idea what that meant and a moment later Mrs. Grindelwald had called Gellert back in. His mother spoke to him in German for another couple of minutes, then they were both dismissed.

She breathed a sigh of relief as they finally left the room, but Gellert did not lead her back to his room. He turned right, taking a wide, sweeping staircase into what could only be an entrance hall. The doors were taller than her house, flanked by a smaller door on either side. They descended down the staircase, joining another stairway midway and turning to come down the centre of the room. Bright stone pillars soared up above her head to a massive vaulted ceiling. She’d been to Chester cathedral once, and this room was of similar size and appearance. They crossed the floor; an incredible inlaid pentagram of blue marble and bronze. Through the arches that lined the main hall, Gellert took her through a black wooden door and down a small, spiralling staircase.

It was dark, flickering torches every couple of meters. After the airy grandeur of the halls, it was particularly dark and she had to climb down one step at a time, uncertain where each one was. Gellert generously slowed to her pace, and they inched their way deeper and deeper.

‘Wohin geht?’ She asked as the floor levelled out into large, uneven slabs of stone.

‘Wand.’ He replied, leading her past several doors. They were in a cellar or dungeon, but it wasn’t damp, rather there was a dusty dryness. If it was any less immaculate she would have expected to see cobwebs draped over everything. They stopped at a door, seemingly no different from the rest and he opened it with a tap of his own wand.

‘You get a wand now, a new wand before Hogwarts.’ He swung the door open, torches lighting magically as he did. The room beyond was small but full of display cases. Different wooden sticks filled each case, different lengths, different colours and decorated in different ways. Some were old and worn, others looked freshly lacquered.

Gellert opened each case then mimed instructions, she needed to shut her eyes and run her hand over every wand. She obeyed and he guided her to the first case.

The woods all felt slightly warm beneath her fingers, some warmer than others but otherwise decidedly boring. She ran her fingers over the wands in the second case, then the third before something happened. She was nearing the end of the third box, her hand stretched across her body when the most glorious feeling of warmth tingled through her fingers.

‘This is it.’ Gellert confirmed what she already suspected. The wand was pale and relatively unadorned, one of the older looking ones. It had a smooth, straight length with a slight crosshatching where she would hold.

‘You must have this. Magic is for here, silence.’ He seemed frustrated but pressed on anyway, putting his fingers to his lips. ‘For us, okay. Your family, it is bad.’

Hermione nodded slowly, understanding what he had said. He wanted her to keep the wand asecret from her family. She could do that, it was only imaginary after all.

‘Tomorrow, we get you clothes.’ He informed her with a smile. ‘We take floo.’

She held her new wand firmly in her grip as he led her back up the staircase, into the hall and back to his rooms where they continued with the magical animals book until it was time for her to wake up.

Her bed always felt to unpleasant when she woke, her mother’s voice was kind but Hermione wished she could go back to Gellert. This time though, something was different. She waited until her mother had gone, then lifted her hand from under the covers. In it, she clutched the wand from her dream.


	5. Unterhalb

He was excused from lessons that day on his mother’s orders to transfigure appropriate clothes for Hermione to wear to the Unterhalb. It theory it shouldn’t be difficult, he had researched and decided the easiest way to do it would actually be to charm one of his mother’s potions skirts into a smaller one. He had an elf find one, then set about practicing the charm on quills, pots of ink... anything that wouldn’t be missed.

It was easier than the bone healing charm and he had it mastered by mid morning. She arrived just as he managed to successfully shrink the skirt, fading into existence on his bed.

She sat up, blinked, then her face lit up in an excited grin.

‘Floo!’ She repeated the word he had taught her the day before. He nodded and passed her the skirt and the cloak she had worn the day before. She frowned at the new garment, then shuffled behind his screen to change.

A moment later she stepped out, performing a twirl for him to inspect. The skirt was slightly too long to be a children’s skirt, brushing the floor, but it was better than flashing her legs at the world. The cloak looked very dark against the slightly worn and faded potion’s skirt. She may not perhaps represent the Grindelwald family, but she wouldn’t cause a scene.

He held out his arm to her, and she took his hand, swinging it down between them. He frowned, then lifted his arm again, gently taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

She laughed lightly, muttering something in English but at least leaving her hand where he had put it. He escorted her down the staircase and to the heavily warded floo room. His ring, worn about his neck on a silver chain until he reached 11, slotted into the keyhole and the doors swung open, granting them access to the massive fireplace beyond. He showed her the powder jar, then mimed throwing it to the ground.

‘Unterhalb!’ He said clearly, then pointed at her. She mimed picking up powder, throwing it down, then carefully pronounced the foreign word. He nodded, then took a handful of powder for real. He stepped into the fireplace and chucked the powder down, shouting the name of the Wizarding district.

The last thing he heard was Hermione’s shriek of alarm over the roar of the fire. Then he was stepping smoothly out of the huge fire pit in the Unterhalb. Hermione was surprisingly quick behind him, he had expected her to spend several minutes preparing herself but she tumbled through before he’d even finished removing the soot from his robes. He performed the courtesy for her, then paused to let her take in the space.

Unterhalb was a massive cavern, so tall that one couldn’t see the roof and too wide to make out the walls on either side. Nestled in the middle was the Wizarding district; the main square around the massive bonfire was lit by strings of coloured glass lanterns. A stage was built permanently on one side for the weekly dances and several eateries had benches and tables outside. The main street was wide enough for two carriages to drive abreast and lit by more lanterns. Wares from the shops spilled out onto the streets; barrels of potion ingredients, racks of clothing and displays of silvery instruments. Witches and wizards of all classes thronged the streets, dirty robed half blood families and those whose magic was too weak to earn a living made way for the finely dressed aristocracy. The ruling class of Germany, with their almost limitless power and associated wealth, the result of generations of wisdom and selective matches swanned through the street in glamorous dresses and fur cloaks, hats and gloves dripping with jewels.

His mother would have turned her nose up at them all. His family were the elite of the elite and she felt there was no need make a song and dance about it. People came to them, people didn’t need to see them dressed like peacocks to know they were the ones to respect, fear and revere.

He nestled Hermione’s hand back into the crook of his elbow and escorted her down the street. She seemed to understand without being told that she needed to not look so eager; once the initial amazement had worn off she kept her looks casual. He caught her staring at an owl once and peering surreptitiously into a barrel of fairy wings another time, but overall she managed to not look too much like the inexperienced Muggleborn that she was.

He went straight past the first clothes shop; Alterman’s did excellent school uniforms and adult everyday robes but nothing suitable for younger children. There was a minor kerfuffle as a silver robed auror arrested a grubby wizard who’d been caught stealing bat eyes from the nearby apothecary. The ingredients spilled from his pockets and the auror’s partner accio’d them all with quick wand movements before they could be spoiled on the dirty street.

He led Hermione away from the gawking crowd and into Frau Klemme’s. The kindle witch recognised him and greeted him with a dip of the head. He half-bowed in acknowledgement and introduced Hermione. The witch tutted as she circled the girl, then instructed her to remove her cloak.

‘Herr Grindelwald, we shall be a while. I don’t suppose you would be good enough to fetch us all tea and pastries from Krier’s?’ He wasn’t stupid enough to not know that she really wanted him out of the shop to get Hermione’s measurements. It would be entirely inappropriate for him to stay whilst that was done. He headed across the street and the owner of the little bakery smiled up at him. He was a large wizard with a pristine white apron and gleaming bald patch. He chortled, perhaps having seen where he had come from.

‘You’ll be wanting a raspberry custard slice for Frau Klemme and tea I suppose?’ He asked, already preparing a tray with the pastry and two more that Gellert pointed out. The kettle boiled instantly at a tap of the wizard’s wand and cups and saucers floated out of the cupboard. The baker scooped milk out of an urn and poured it into a delicate cup.

‘I’ll just put it on her tab then.’ The baker said, sliding the tray towards him. He pulled out his wand, tapping the tray and hovering it with great concentration across the street to Frau Klemme’s.

Hermione was back in his mother’s skirt, seated on a chair as Klemme showed her bolts of cloth. The young witch turned to him with a desperate expression, clearly far out of her depth as the woman chattered in German.

‘Tea and cake, Frau.’ He interrupted and she took the tray from the air, setting it on the side table.

‘Impressive magic for one your age.’ She complimented, ‘but of course I should expect no less from a Grindelwald.’

He gave a short bow in thanks, then turned to the bolts of cloth that were already out.

‘This would be nice for the formal.’ He pointed to a navy silk with small white spots. ‘Otherwise I believe this and this,’ he pointed to a navy and a deep brown fabric, ‘would be good. A full cloak and a hat as well if you please.’

She nodded, then brought out a sketch book. He shook his head immediately upon seeing the drawings.

‘Petticoats, my mother believes this muggle fashion is foolish.’ Hermione wandered up to take a look, her nose crinkling at the picture of a young girl crammed into a willowy dress with a protruding bustle. The seamstress nodded, and flicked through to a plainer dress with a calf length skirt. Hermione made a noise of appreciation, which was taken as an agreement by the older witch.

Gellert made a few other choices for her and they emerged out into the street again over an hour after they had arrived but Hermione was wearing the first of her new dresses. She looked very good with her hair braided and a black semi-formal dress. She still wore his fur hat and cloak and looked like a proper young witch.

They turned left at a junction, following a smaller street down to the market. He’d always liked this area, although his mother hated it. She called it a cess pit of the unsuccessful, he thought of it more like a melting pot of opportunities. The things that came up for sale here were always interesting; once he’d bought a pair of diaries that mirrored one another. Another time he’d bought a gourd full of basilisk venom from a vender who was convinced it was draught of despair. He also strongly suspected the poison that had killed his father had come from here.

Although, not everything sold here was dark, in fact most of it wasn’t. The pace slowed to a crawl as they got held up behind a housewitch arguing with a vendor over the price of fish. It gave Hermione a chance to look around. The stall to their left held colour changing cloaks, the one two down next to the fish vendor offered magical seeds and the one opposite him had a wide variety of magical rodents.

He had noticed her wand stuffed down her sock, so he bought her a wrist holster. They passed a shop selling ‘discount goods’ which he knew to mean stolen and a second book stall. He managed to steer her past that one by refusing to translate any of the titles and a bribe of a shabby but beautifully illustrated original copy of beedle the bard in runes. She would need to learn runes anyway and he imagined this would be much more interesting than his own dry lessons.

He purchased the potions ingredients they were running low on, taking the opportunity to show each to Hermione. He pointed out how to check for a proper iridescent sheen on fairy wings and how the consistency of the slimy toad eggs could be used to determine age. There was a good deal on loch weeds and he managed to wheedle the shop keeper into selling snow-apple seeds to someone underage.

They wandered back to the bonfire square, then took a seat on one of the benches to eat lunch - steaming hot pies from the “Hexenkessel”; the pub where families traditionally gathered after pre-school shopping.

‘Gellert?’ Hermione asked quietly. He turned to look at her, noticing that she was nervously fiddling with her wand.

‘What?’ He asked.

‘I think this is real.’ She replied, he didn’t understand the words and he repeated what was becoming their most common phrases to tell her so. ‘I thought this was a dream but I woke up at home with the wand.’

He shrugged, still not understanding her and tossed the paper wrapper of his pie into the fire. She shrugged too, still obviously bothered but not able to convey her thoughts through the language barrier. His own English had improved massively since he met her, even in just a week. She tried to speak German as often as she could, which he appreciated, but her knowledge was limited and he suspected she had only recently begun learning. Her word order was shocking, her word endings almost always nonexistent. He hoped he had managed to teach her as much as she had taught him.

The floo journey home was even less painless, as he had no cause for concern. She knew what to expect and she could certainly be able to pronounce ‘Blaue Burg’ as they’d already discussed it at length, so he paid a Knut each for floo powder, hopped through and was followed a moment later by the young witch.

Klein, the head elf, met them at the doorway.

‘Master Gellert, Klein is being here to introduce Mistress Hermione to her elf.’ He bowed lowly to the two children; a very young elf in a fresh, crisp summer uniform stood behind him. It was a display of casual opulence that the Grindelwald family gave their vast number of elves uniforms and a comparatively cheap way to earn their undying loyalty; after all, what elf wouldn’t want to work for a family who are not only influential but also provide excellent living conditions.

‘I is Flighty, I is speaking English for Missy Hermione.’ The little elf curtsied neatly. ‘I is also speaking German for Master Gellert.’ She added with another curtesy in his direction.

She really was small for an elf, much younger than any he had seen working before. As a long lived species, they usually had a long childhood and worked alongside their parents for many years before either being employed by their parent’s family or setting out on their own. She spoke two languages though, unusual in and of itself, and if Klein had employed her she would certainly be excellent, after all his family were never struggling to find elves to employ.

He turned to Hermione, gesturing to the elf and explained as well as he could that the elf would be hers but she needed to complete the bonding ritual once she was ready. Thankfully, Flighty was there to fill in the gaps in his English and he had to resolve to not come to rely on the elf. He still needed to learn English himself.

Hermione had to leave on their way back upstairs, disappearing with her usual noiseless disapparition.


	6. Magic

She woke in a different room this time; it was lighter. There were two windows instead of one, pale cream drapes pulled aside by gold sashes. The bed she lay on was made up in the palest blue which matched the delicate floral wallpaper. She rolled over, surprised to find herself already dressed in one of the dresses Gellert had bought for her the day before. It was a dark brown with a white lace trim around her arms and neck, not as uncomfortable as she thought it would be.

She rolled up to her feet, finding a carpet across the floor that covered all but the smallest gap around the walls. She found her wand on a gilded dresser, a huge mirror complimented her hairstyle and the tree in the mural behind the bed rattled it’s leaves. She peered out of the closest window, realising with some pleasure that a row of panes opened. The gilt handle smoothly turned, then swung open to allow a crisp breeze.

One of the big doors opened and a pale head poked through, large ears poking out beneath a crisp white hat. The elf smilies happily when it saw her looking and opened the door wider.

‘Missy be seeing Master Gellert now.’ The elf informed her as Gellert stepped through. He looked her up and down and complimented the colour of her eyes. She assumed that meant he liked her outfit and didn’t know how to say much more, so she complimented his shirt to show off her German. Since she had learned this was real, she had spent some time looking over her German book in school and was keen to show off the new words she had learned.

Then beckoned to her and she followed him out into the corridor. She was a floor above his rooms; she recognised the painting in the stairwell opposite the archway.

They went all the way to the bottom of the spiral staircase and took a right down the corridor. The doors here weren’t big and fancy; just heavy dark wood with blackened iron hinges. The blue runner carpet was unembellished and the stone was bare more often than not, interspersed with portraits of unsmiling people with plaques announcing them to be Gellert’s ancestors. The older the date, the more ridiculous the outfit and name.

The room they ended up in was plainer still. This time there were no tapestries or portraits; just the immaculately mortared stone soaring up from uncarpeted stone floor. The fireplace was small and plain, unlit at the moment and the windows were high above eye level so one could only see a cutout of cloudy sky. They were open, allowing crisp air to blow through the room and stirring the parchments on the large desk at the front of the room. Two small desks and stools sat between them and the front, parchment and feather quills laid out on each one, along with a heavy book on the right hand desk. Gellert sat at the left desk, and she cautiously took the other.

The moment they sat, the door opened behind them and a middle aged man strode through. He wore his foul mood like a cloak, then shed it like one as he reached the tall chair at the front desk. He must have arrived earlier and only just returned as his leather bag was already on the desk.

‘I spoke to Lady Grindelwald.’ He informed her in accented German, instead of greeting her. ‘You will learn under me for three days, then spend two days with another tutor, a day with her Ladyship and then have a day to yourself.’

He finally turned, having arranged his belongings on the desk. His face was unremarkable beneath the mousy hair, his eyes small and his chin a little on the square side perhaps, but certainly not someone who would stand out in a crowd. He wore what seemed to be typical clothing for the period - white shirt tucked into brown pressed trousers, covered by a floor length dressing gown (robe, she believed was the name for it.)

‘Yes, Sir.’ She finally answered.

‘Now, I’d like to see your letters please.’ He instructed, then smoothly changed to german and gave Gellert his marching orders. She pulled the parchment towards her, fingering the thick, rough texture and noting that the edges were neatly square. She’d spent hours with her mother wiping tea bags over paper and using a candle to carefully burn the edges. The result was nothing quite as luxurious as the real thing. She picked up the quill which was lighter than the pen she was finally allowed to use in school. There was a slight scratchiness against her hand where the bottom feathers had been trimmed off to let her hold it and untrimmed section had an air resistance when she performed an experimental downward stroke. The slight scratch of the quill against the parchment was rough and sounded amazing. She unscrewed the lid of the ink pot that had been built into the desk and dipped the tip of the quill into it, covering as little as possible.

She scratched out the first letter of the alphabet, then had to add a bit more ink to write the second. By the fourth letter it was starting to get a bit impractical, so she dipped the quill in further. It dripped several times on the way across the desk to the parchment and she almost cried as the brownish black liquid obscured her best handwriting. She started again, the letters forming blotchy and uneven.

She dipped the quill in again, this time managing to not make any drips and write four reasonably neat letters before needing to dip again. Then it only took her a moment to finish the alphabet. She frowned at it for a moment, then started again.

By the time the teacher was done speaking to Gellert, she had filled the entire page with the alphabet. She was reasonably confident with the quill, not fast but she was reliably not dripping anymore. The tutor took the page.

‘Have you written with a quill before?’ The tutor asked. She shook her head and he nodded as if he had expected her answer. He taught her to hold her wrist at a different angle so that she was less likely to smudge the ink. The result was that the angular cut of the tip of the quill created a different thickness of line depending on which direction she drew it in. She started the alphabet again and it looked neater already.

Next to her Gellert was reading from the large tome and taking notes in effortless, flowing script. A parchment flapped in front of her, wafting the earthy scent of ink. She refocused to see the tutor had drawn letters - beautiful flowing letters.

‘Copy these.’ He instructed, and she obeyed, painstakingly copying each swirl and dash, forcing her lines to be thick and thin where his were. He made her write the alphabet twice, then handed her a thin book. It was worn, spotted with inky fingerprints, perhaps evidence of many other children who had thumbed through it as they learned to write. It was an English book, ‘Witchcraft and Wizardry by Caesar Rowle.’

The letters were printed into the thick paper leaving heavy indentations. She read through the first page, which was an introduction to the differences between witchcraft and wizardry - apparently witchcraft was performed using just intent. Wizardry was guided by spells and incantations. The author informed her in phrasing that permitted no dispute that wizardry was a weaker, limited form of magic. Apparently wizardry was just witchcraft that had been condensed into words for those too weak to form their own magic. Sorcery, it was called, when one used a combination of the two to perform magic so powerful or complex that it couldn’t be performed by one form alone.

As fascinating as she found the subject, her true assignment was just to copy the first couple of pages using the fancy lettering the tutor had shown her. She did, but was grateful when she was allowed to take the book away during their lunch break to continue reading.

The room next door was a much more relaxed setting - she would have called it a playroom if there had been toys, but as it was it was perhaps more of a games room. There was a chess board in the corner and a shelf with cards and several games she didn’t recognise. The shelves above it were filled with brightly coloured books which grew steadily more sedate and thicker as one got higher up the shelves. There was a large fireplace with comfortable chairs arranged around it and a thick pile of furs and blankets to choose from. There was a desk beneath the window, this one large and piled high with books and parchment scraps.

They took a chair each and two of the house elves appeared, Flighty, the English elf, curtseyed to Hermione and poured them each a cup of tea in delicate china cups. It was luxurious, loose leaf and smelled of flowery bergamot - nothing like the ‘builder’s tea’ her parents made. A teaspoon of thick cream was added instead of milk, and the end result was a thick, rich drink which she immediately fell in love with. Little sandwiches of fluffy bread with a crisp, almost French crust, filled wth lettuce and tomatoes and creamy cheese were arranged among delicate rolls of ham and bejewelled with bright grapes and shiny apple slices. The silver platter was sat between them, and lacy napkins laid over both their laps.

Hermione reached for the book, only for her hand to be slapped away by Flighty.

‘Missy does not be reading during lunch!’ The elf scolded. Hermione nodded obediently and took one of the sandwiches instead.

‘Missy should be eating from a plate.’ Flighty snatched the sandwich from her before she could take a bite, plopping it on a plate. Then, as if not trusting her, the elf portioned out a couple of pieces of ham and a helping of fruit for her. Gellert watched on with considerable amusement, eating his own sandwich from a plate. His own elf had long gone.

She ate the food, noting how good it was even as she tried to look disgruntled at the treatment. Her manners were perfectly fine, it wasn’t her fault the people from 100 years ago had their knickers in a twist.

Under strict observation she finished her sandwich, then licked her fingers. The hand was slapped from her mouth, and the elf shoved her napkin into her hands without even needing to speak her disapproval. Hermione obediently dried her hands on the fabric and was then, finally, allowed to touch the book. The elf made a disparaging commentary as she cleared away the remains of lunch, Gellert still watched in amusement.

‘We do magic after lunch.’ He informed her once they were alone. ‘Your first spell is important.’

‘Why?’ She asked, looking up from the book.

‘It is... important. It means things. Your first magic.’ He paused.

‘What was yours?’

‘Fire.’ He answered with a manic grin. She could imagine him waving that wooden wand of his, fire billowing out of the end of it. She rather thought she would prefer something more useful. He handed her a list, one written in a more angular hand than that she had been taught today. It was less flamboyant but no less beautiful - neat letters crammed uniformly into lines and immaculate calligraphy making the page look like it had come from an ancient bible.

It was a list of spells from his mother - ones that she considered to be acceptable first spells. She read through it quickly - fire, water, wind, light, levitation, severing, unlocking and disarming. Fire, water and wind she quickly dismissed as not very useful, although they sounded cool and showy. She couldn’t see herself needing to disarm any time soon, having never met another magical person, so that left levitation, severing, unlocking and light.

There was really no question, she wanted her first spell to be summoning. She could already picture how great it would be to study and just magically summon pens, books and paper as needed. Or, she could summon her uniform to bed when she woke up in the morning and the room was cold... the possibilities were really endless.

She could barely sit still for the rest of lunch and was only too happy to finish pretending to read the book and start lessons again. They went to the room down from the one they had been in before. This one had a window, but no other furnishings, not even a fireplace.

The tutor was already waiting and Gellert was quickly sent to one corner of the room with a hedgehog to practice a spell he seemed to already know, and hate if his reaction was anything to go by.

Then the tutor turned to her. She bounced on her toes.

‘You have chosen?’ He asked and she nodded, informing him of her choice. He pulled a quill from his pocket and passed it to her, she took it.

‘We will practice with a wand first, but this will be the only time. The Lady Grindelwald believes that use of wands dampens the connection between a Wicca and their magic. Your wand will help you to find your magical core, but you must learn to reach for it yourself.’

The tutor had taken out his wand in a movement the enraptured young witch completely missed. She hastily pulled out her own from the holster Gellert had bought her at the market. She paid careful attention as the wand movement was demonstrated and then copied it carefully. The tutor had her perform the movement time after time making minute corrections until he deemed it good enough. Gellert’s Hedgehog was looking slightly silvery, but otherwise seemed unchanged despite him prodding it determinedly with his wand.

She was taught an incantation next - “Accio” which had to be pronounced exactly right, with the correct emphasis in the right places. The tutor cautioned her with a story about a man who pronounced a spell wrong and ended up with a buffalo on his chest, then allowed her to practice the word, again and again and again. Gellert’s hedgehog’s nose had grown into a long stick by then and was definitely metallic looking.

The tutor then set her to studying the quill, she had to become familiar with it - the weight, the size the colour. He got her to sketch it, then answer questions on it until she was certain she knew the feather better than she knew her favourite teddy. The sun was beginning to set behind the hill opposite. An elf popped in to light the torches.

Finally, she was allowed to try the spell but first the Lady Grindelwald had to be summoned.

She must have been expecting the call because she arrived five minutes later, sweeping through the door with a whisper of grey silk. Hermione curtsied as the two others bowed, looking down to hide her sudden nerves. She wasn’t even convinced that she was a witch, and suddenly she was to have an audience for a spell she was starting to believe wouldn’t work.

Gellert squeezed her arm as he passed, whispering in her ear.

‘It will come, you must be strong.’ Then he as gone, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, facing the feather and Lady Grindelwald.

‘What have you chosen?’ The lady asked and Hermione gave her answer with a bob of her head. The Lady seemed satisfied. ‘Very well, remember, concentration and viciousness.’

Hermione held out her wand, pictured the feather, imagined it flying from the floor to her hand. She remembered the weight of it, the touch of the quill against her fingers. She would prove herself, she needed to prove herself, prove that she was a witch. The feather would come to her hand, she knew everything, she had everything right, if she was a witch, it would come.

‘Accio!’ She cried.

The feather whizzed across the room like an arrow from a bow, she raised her free hand instinctually, although whether to catch or defend was undecided. The feather bounced off her open palm and she fumbled to catch it as it drifted to the floor.

A moment later her audience was applauding as she stared at the seemingly innocuous brown feather in her hand.


	7. Elfwork

She was quietly brilliant, he decided. Accio wasn’t dramatic or spectacular, and not the most power hungry spell on his mother’s list. He had chosen fire because it was the most difficult spell, the one that demonstrated the most power and control and his mother had been happy, but she seemed more than happy with Hermione’s choice as well. She had succeeded first try of course, which was an important omen in his family, even if her surprise at actually having managed the spell belied the apparent ease with which she had cast.

Not that he had expected otherwise with her accidental apparition every night.

She continued to excel in lessons, advancing to cover levitation and and lumos over the next couple of weeks. Her witchcraft was excellent and she managed to create a ball of light in her hands by the end of the last lesson. Meanwhile, he successfully created a mace out of a hedgehog and even successfully controlled the decoration on his onion-teapot.

She didn’t take as well to calligraphy; although she wrote fast and took extensive notes, her handwriting was always rough and blotchy. Her astronomy wasn’t as good either, nor her Latin, although there were signs she would catch up quickly with the rate she absorbed information.

They were split up for Thursday and Friday, Hermione going with a stern widow to learn the skills essential to womanhood whilst he continued fencing in preparation to learn duelling. He was slightly ashamed to admit that he was relieved she showed almost no aptitude for any of the more physical skills - she complained all through lunch about her first flying lesson, sporting a spectacular tangle in her hair and furiously flushed cheeks until her elf noticed her disarray. That was an even funnier point, how her elf was constantly scolding her - her appearance, her eating habits, her reading choice, the way she sat...

His mother had bought her a Longma as a gift for her first spell and she took to the animal like his Kelpie to water. She would hurry down after lessons in the few hours before she disappeared each day to polish his scales and brush the silky fine mane that flowed down the beast’s spine. She insisted on learning to ride, so every afternoon was spent on horseback. He taught her on the mighty sleipnir, sedate despite their size, with the assistance of a cushioning charm. She refused to ride her Longma (which she named Katana) until she was capable on the sleipnir, which he understood - the scaly back of the Longma looked slippery.

The few times he did manage to pry her away from the stables and the books, they played board games. She was terrible at all of them - gobstones, chess... even a couple of card games that she taught him.

Her morning with his mother passed without event, she seemed to arrive each morning already suitably dressed from the clothes laid out for her the night before. He assumed it was perhaps some kind of switching spell, but considering how long he knew ladies took to dress it was rather useful.

His own meeting with his mother also went smoothly, she was pleased with his progress and asked for a report on Hermione’s. He reported accurately and they were granted a day off.

He found her in the library, already changed out of her smart clothes. She looked up from the book she was reading as he entered and he peered at the title over her shoulder. She was practicing calligraphy, he realised, wondering if she even understood the meaning of a day off. From what he gathered she spent the time she was away at school as well - muggle school. No wonder his mother liked her.

‘We have the day off. What would you like to do?’ He asked her and she looked up with a smile.

‘Baking?’ She asked brightly. He looked at her blankly.

‘Baking...’

‘Yes, lets make biscuits.’ She replied, as if her suggestion was as ordinary as suggesting he light the fire in winter. ‘There must be a kitchen here.’

She jumped up, reshelving the book and holding her hand out for him to take. He stayed frozen, trying to decided whether baking was something suitable, something they were even allowed to do. He doubted it, cooking was something elves did; people of superior breeding did not. Then again, Hermione wanted to do it, his mother might excuse the inappropriate activity if he said he was sharing her culture...

He took her hand and led her down to the kitchen.

He had no memory of being in the room before, although he was certain he had been in with his nana-elf when he was very young. It was incredibly warm; so hot that within minutes he was peeling off layers down to his white shirt. The elves looked dubious at their request but quickly provided the ingredients as Hermione listed them off. Her elf, Flighty, didn’t appear to slap their hands, so he figured it couldn’t be too terrible.

He joined the young witch at the low table and she introduced him to each ingredient - four white powders, he recognised sugar and salt and had seen flour on top of bread but baking powder was new to him. She told him it made the biscuits airy. Two spices; ginger and cinnamon, one a pale brown powder, the other a deep woody brown. Both smelled warm and christmassy.

It was like potions, he decided as she measured out butter and syrup into a brassy pan and put them onto the stove to melt. He supervised the melting whilst she measured out the dry ingredients and mixed them in a big bowl with a wooden spoon. It puffed up in little clouds and her blue dress was quickly covered in white handprints.

He pulled the pan off the stove as soon as the last knob of butter melted and carefully carried it over by the smooth wooden handle. She showed him how to make a little hole in the middle he poured the melted mixture in whilst she stirred. An elf hurried to take the pan from him as soon as he was done and then, to his horror, Hermione pushed up her sleeves and fully dug her hands into the gooey mixture and began kneeding it between her fingers. Within moments she was covered in flour to her elbows and her hands were coated in a thick layer of golden brown dough.

She laughed at his expression and insisted he do the same, he tried to resist but she brandished her doughey hands in the direction of his face and chased him around he table, giggling all the way. He managed to remain out of range and thought himself safe, until she grabbed a handful of flour from the bin and chucked it at him. It puffed across the table, falling like fine snow across his shoulders and settling in his hair until he looked like a ghost in the reflections in the gleaming pots. Outraged, he spluttered for a moment, then he saw her mischievous grin and decided on the spot that he certainly couldn’t let her get away with that. He reached over the table, plunging his hand into the doughy mixture and lobbed a glob at her.

His aim was excellent and it splattered against the white apron an elf had tied over her dress when she first requested ingredients. She squealed in outrage and dove behind the bin of flour for cover as he brandished a second handful of dough. He couldn’t get a clear shot at her as she scrambled for distance, remaining safely behind cover. He edged sideways, glanced down to step over a loose flagstone and a cold, wet... something caught him across the face.

A gleeful giggle soundtracked his realisation that Hermione had grabbed a wet cloth from the sink and thrown it across the room at him and despite her appalling aim, had somehow caught him across the face. The water had mixed with the flour to form a gooey, sticky mess in his hair.

He drew his wand menacingly, glared warningly at her and turned around to the bin of vegetable scraps next to the sink. He waved his wand and sent the peelings flying towards her, then froze in horror as he realised the the young witch, entirely unintimidated by his glare, had levitated the entire contents of the flour bin and was ready to deposit the whole lot over him.

Fifteen minutes later Gellert and Hermione stood in the horse yard being hosed down - literally- by an irate Klein. The head elf wore a scowl, but the amusement of the other elves tempered it slightly. Gellert teased the gluey flour out of his hair as Hermione picked carrot peelings out from the sodden folds of her skirts.

‘The young master and young miss will tidy up their mess.’ The elf said sternly, blasting Gellert’s hair with water again, then turning to Hermione to give her the same treatment. He was ashamed to note that she had come out of the encounter considerably cleaner, although he was inclined to put that down to her knowledge of the mess that flour and water would make - his own attempt to recreate the mess over her with the sugar had been mended in a single blast from the hose.

‘Yes, Klein.’ She said contritely as an elf performed a drying charm over her. She disappeared back into the kitchen as he continued to work on his hair.

‘Klein hopes the young master has learned his lesson.’ The head elf scolded as Gellert finally ran his fingers through damp, but no longer slimy hair.

‘Don’t cook?’ He replied dully. The elf smacked him around the head lightly.

‘No, young master be learning to cook. Young master should also be learning not to mix flour and water. I is telling master next time he should be using syrup on the young miss.’ He gaped at the elf’s completely straight face. The wrinkled servant looked at him completely seriously. ‘It is not becoming of the young master to be losing so easily.’


	8. Dancing

She rolled her wand between the fingers of her left hand as she added the finishing flourish to her “holes” essay with her new fountain pen. The writing looked beautiful, the essay was long and detailed, even Herr Kerr would approve it. She would receive full marks of course, her day life was so predictable, so dull, compared to the lifetime she lived in her dreams. She took a sip of the English tea; her parents didn’t let her drink it but she had begun to find hot chocolate so unbearably sweet. It amazed her that her dentist parents let her drink the stuff.

She flicked her wand towards the bookshelf, summoning the English-German lesson tapes that she’d borrowed from the library. She’d been pleased to discover that she could skip the first two ‘years’ of German, and she’d spoken to her teachers about being entered into her 11+ exams early. Her parents had been curious but happy none the less and had been only too happy to take her to extra German classes.

Whilst she listened to the childish songs about people’s morning routines, she cast the levitation charm on her books - she’d learned that magic and electronics didn’t mesh well in an unfortunate incident with the TV remote. Fortunately, her parents had assumed it was faulty and she hadn’t had to admit to breaking it.

Whilst she levitated her copy of “holes” she felt for the magic that flowed out of her and around the book. It was like feeling a glowing stream, and she could imagine feeling it tangibly in her hands as it channeled through the wand. With a firm grasp on her core, she ended the spell and put her wand down, then she directed the magic to create light in her hands. When she opened her eyes, the imagined glow was a real glow. She watched the slightly pulsing light for a moment, then allowed it to go out. She reached for the magic again, still familiar with the feeling, and directed it to cradle a book on her desk. When she raised her hands, the magic moved with them, raising the book. She held it for a moment, then let it down again.

The happy children’s voices were singing about what they ate for dinner now and some of the words were unfamiliar. She copied down the new words to look up, making sure to twist her wrist just so as she finished the “s”. The song ended and she fast forwarded the tape through the English translation, instead using the time whilst the characters discussed transport to look up the german words she had just copied down.

Gellert had remarked more than once how fast she was progressing, what he didn’t realise was that she was practicing whilst he was asleep - when she was awake in her real life. She knew Lady Grindelwald’s affection was conditional and she intended to earn that affection, along with all the benefits that came with it. After all, the things she was learning were wonderful and she had found a wonderful friend in Gellert. He was intelligent and driven, perhaps not quite as fond of books as her but perfectly willing and capable of reading advanced topics and discussing them like a grown up. He appreciated being outdoors without the need for rough-housing but he had a wicked sense of humour.

She could still barely believe he was real but the wand, the magic, the otherwise inexplainable learning of seemingly random subjects (her riding skills were real too, even if mortal horses were a little... humdrum...) all pointed to her dreams somehow being real.

Her parents called her for dinner and she hurried down to join them. Her mother had made a shepherd’s pie and Hermione laid the table. It was comforting to eat with the sturdy, mass produced cutlery and plates, the food wasn’t as good but she took great pleasure in eating a large portion, licking the back of her spoon and cutting her vegetables with her fork.

Her parents discussed their days at work and asked Hermione about her day at school. She summarised her day quickly - top marks in her Maths test and a new English assignment. She assured them she had already finished it and done some more work on her German.

Her mother had noticed the apple tree was ready for a harvest, and she offered Hermione some pocket money to fill a crate with apples and Hermione accepted. She wanted to get some more books, perhaps classic literature, or take violin lessons. Gellert played the piano and he was excellent, she would love to be able to play with him and Lady Grindelwald had expressed disappointment that she didn’t already know an instrument.

Bed time came quickly after that. Her tooth brushing was carefully supervised, her parents singing a song where she had to change areas of her mouth depending on which line was being sung. Then she was left in her room and the curtains were drawn. Her eyes alighted on her German-English dictionary and she wondered if, like her wand, she could bring it with her.

Sleep didn’t exist, she shut her eyes in the real world and blinked them open in her glorious castle room. She was only mildly disappointed that the book hadn’t come with her; after all, her clothes didn’t travel either.

She would be with Frau Brandler today and she flopped back down on her bed in horror. She hated lessons with Frau Brandler - they would be studying yet more dancing today. She was already dressed in the painful heels and long skirt that she was to wear for dancing lessons, and a knock at her door had her stifling a moan as she rose.

Gellert offered her his arm and she tucked her hand into it for support, clutching her skirts with her other as he helped her down the stairs. He walked her all the way to the music room, then turned back to the writing room for his own lessons. He was learning runes, which was the foundations of sorcery and ancient wizardry and she was so envious of him. The subject sounded fascinating, particularly when she was learning dancing of all things.

She took a deep, calming breath.

She was younger than Gellert and he had probably already learned to dance. She was sure that once she learned to dance, she would be allowed to study runes and duelling.

‘Good morning, Fräulein Granger.’ Frau Brandler greeted and Hermione curtsied unsteadily in her heels. She could just about manage walking but the ankle twist required to curtesy was another matter entirely.

‘Today we shall be practicing the dance we learned last week.’ She was informed curtly and Hermione’s eyes drifted to the mannequin that stood against the wall. The awful thing was enchanted to keep dancing without care for her, and its arms were hard and unforgiving. It was heavy too, and last lesson her toes and shins had been bruised and painful from it treading on her when she got her legs in the way.

The string quartet in the corner of the room jumped to life and began to perform a song that was beginning to sound like the soundtrack to her nightmares. The mannequin jumped to life and she had to hurry in her heels to reach him. She knew from experience that cutting in was harder than starting from the beginning. Six other mannequins joined them, forming the rest of the quadrille and then they were off, wooden forms looking graceful with her bumbling along between them.

Two dances and several hours worth of bruised feet later, she flopped into her chair in the lunch room with a lack of grace that even Flighty seemed to have sympathy for as she was allowed to guzzle down her glass of water with no hand slapping.

‘Still not dancing?’ Gellert asked. He was nursing bruised knuckles, having already informed her as to his runes tutor’s fondness for the cane.

‘No. I hate that woman, and I hate her stupid music.’ She grumped, glaring at the empty hearth. When she looked up again, Gellert was standing over her, his hand held out.

‘Come, dance with me Fräulein.’ He offered, she scowled at him, lowering her brows to make her glare even darker. ‘You will like it.’

She relented, taking his hand and letting him escort her to the music room again. It was empty, Frau Brandler away for lunch and her mannequins motionless against the wall. Gellert tapped the instruments with his wand and they jumped up to perform a Polka. Hermione took her place next to him and rested her hand on his arm.

He stood completely still, facing an imaginary partner as the cello counted them in, then they turned towards each other and he spun her about. Just as she felt about to topple over, her arm swept around her waist, stabilising her and his left came up to clasp her hand and sweep them forwards. They sidestepped across the room, twirled once, kept sidestepping, twirled again, then danced around the room in a large circle, spinning. He stopped suddenly, their momentum throwing her into a twirl beneath his arm and it was really just logical where her feet went to execute it smoothly. She didn’t have a chance to lose her balance as she was swept of her feet and sum around in the air, before being set down and guided once more into a twirling circle. The violin chirped a tempo that it was impossible not to follow, and she managed to keep it perfectly as he spun her away, she twirled twice, then like a boomerang found herself twirling back into his arms. He led them into a series of intricate steps through the room, her footwork wasn’t perfect but it really didn’t matter as it was difficult to get too far wrong when he was leading the way.

She had a little trouble with the sideways flick of her heels, then he was leading her again in a series of twirling loops and lines, her skirts swirling around her legs and her breathing coming faster as they kept up the vigorous pace. He instructed her gently as they got to the parts she was less familiar with, until before she knew it she was draped backwards over his arm as the violin drew the music to a tremulous close.

Applause echoed through the suddenly silent room.

‘Sehr Gut, Sehr Gut, Herr Grindelwald.’ Frau Brandler strode across the room with a click of heels against the wooden floor. She spoke too fast then for Hermione to really catch what they were saying with her limited German, and Gellert replied in kind.

She had enjoyed herself, she realised. She had really enjoyed herself, and the dancing had been easy when she had relaxed and let herself... flow, for want of a better word, with the music. The mannequins were terrible dance partners, and Gellert was truly excellent in comparison. He had an aristocratic grace that she couldn’t help but share when she danced with him. Her feet felt light, her arms lighter. Her heels hadn’t bothered her because she was dancing on delicately pointed toes, her feet never resting long enough for balance on the precarious shoes to become an issue. The speed of their twirls had held the skirts away from her feet, the hem swirling several inches above the ground. Oh yes, she really had enjoyed herself.

Of course, he had his own lessons to attend, so Gellert was soon dismissed and Hermione’s lessons moved from dancing to walking. She felt like she had stepped out of a Jane Austen novel a book and teacup were piled on her head, a broomstick tied to her back and she was forced to perform tasks that would otherwise have been easy. Again and again she was forced to sit and stand, climb a step, even walking at different speeds was difficult. When she concentrated on her posture, she’d tangle her legs in her skirts, Shen she looked down to keep her feet untangled, the book and teacup would fall and smash on the floor.

Then, as if things weren’t already bad enough, Frau Brandler combined both deportment and broomstick flying, forcing her to precariously balance on a flying broomstick - side saddle of course, no self respecting witch would ride astride - with the teacup still on her head. Thankfully they didn’t have to go high, but she had to balance the acceleration smoothly or the teacup would be swept off by the acceleration.

Her whole body ached from the exertion by the time she was finally released and she could go with Gellert to visit Katana in the stables.

He finished later than her, nursing a swelling sting that effectively immobilised his left hand. Along with his still bruised knuckles from the cane earlier, he was almost as worse for wear as she was.

Katana was in the stable opposite Kelpie and she paused to admire her beast as Gellert tempted his own from the pond in it’s stall. He was tall, taller than Kelpie by far and she had to stand on a stool to be able to comb the mane on his back. His silvery scales shimmered like moonlight, and his mane was an icy blue-white, running from the base of his long antlers to the tip of the scaly tail, which ended in a tuft. His pale, leathery wings folded tightly against his sides, but he carried them raised so that she could scratch the join between them and his shoulders.

She rubbed him down with a wet cloth and filled his manger with hay. A wet slop from across the barn signalled that Gellert had fed his Kelpie and with chores done, they retired upstairs to the lunch room to nurse their aching muscles and play a game of chess. Hermione already knew that Gellert would beat her thoroughly and hoped that at least she would be woken by the time the game finished so that she wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of having her king chased around the board by his many remaining pieces.


	9. Harvest

The harvest ball, hosted by the Tunninger Family every year was one of the few events his strongly traditional mother deigned to attend. A large part of that was perhaps because the Tunningers were also heavily traditional, so the event was less about glamorous gowns and more about the traditional ceremony.

His mother chose Hermione’s robes herself, as this would be her first public appearance. The plain white dress was traditional for a young witch at rituals, until her first bleed when she would wear red. The skirt had no hoops or adornments and the long, thick, russet woollen cloak was embroidered subtly with flashing gold leaves. It was long, designed to drape enough to cover her ankles as she rode astride. There was no iron, steel or silver in any of the items as this was a fire festival, silver was the metal of the moon and steel and iron could carry the taint of previous magic.

His own outfit was conspicuously matching, his half cloak the same colour and gold embroidery on his shirt.

She arrived already dressed, the laid out clothes disappearing from the chair and reappearing with her already wearing them. His mother must have explained the day in their meeting - she was cradling a small, rosy red apple to her chest. Her elf appeared to do her hair with russet and gold ribbons, weaving it into a crown with ripe ears of wheat. She wrung her hands and nervously polished the apple, wincing slightly as the elf tugged at her hair.

“Young miss is ready.’ Flighty declared, stepping away from her masterpiece. Hermione blinked and thanked the young elf, then stood to join Gellert at the door. She looked older and taller in the straight dress, they stood side by side in the mirror and he could almost picture how they would look in a decade. They would both be taller of course, her dress exchanged for crimson and her magic crackling in anticipation of the ritual. Perhaps she would be the sun when her magic matured; Grindelwalds were often the channel of these rituals, and she would be bedecked in gold.

They hurried down to meet his mother, who was dressed in black. She was the host in most rituals, her knowledge and power unmatched, but as a widow she was unable to take the position of channel. Their horses were already saddled - his mother stood next to her prize Granian stallion, personally checking his saddle. He went over Kelpie’s harness - port gates were notorious for loosening straps, then assisted Hermione with Katana’s. Her Longma’s saddle was made of thick, embroidered silk in Grindelwald blue and the thick breast plate was fringed in silver. He helped Hermione up, arranging her cloak so that it covered her ankles and helping her untangle her skirts from the stirrups.

He was the last to mount, clambering over Kelpie’s back as both the Granian and Longma flexed their wings. His mother nodded to him once, then flicked her reins. Her mount surged upwards in a rush of air and a snap of feathers. Katana followed, his wings thudding dully as leathery skin stretched taut under his weight. Hermione hung on, her carefully arranged cloak streaming behind her as her mount gained height quickly. He tapped his heels to Kelpie’s flanks and his beast leapt away at a gallop, tearing though the back gates and along the ridge line. He laughed out loud as his horse rolled his eyes skyward, catching sight of the two airborne shapes ahead and picked up his pace.

He loved the festivals; true Wiccan celebrations were a celebration of who they truly were, a revel of power and magic with none of the stifling traditions absorbed from the muggles. The morning was still young, so the dew glistened on the russet leaves of autumn and Kelpie’s breath steamed in the air. The wind was earthy, rich with the smell of fallen leaves and ripe fruit. Wildlife scattered as they passed - birds fluffed up with the beginnings of their winter plumage, stags with their heads bare for winter, Hindebeast slow with the pull of hibernation.

He arrived last to the port gate - a ring of standing stones surrounding the square archway. The women can’t have arrived much before him though as his mother was only just opening the gate. He reined in Kelpie next to Katana, glancing over at Hermione’s flushed face. She looked like the embodiment of autumn with her amber cloak, rosy cheeks, her hair magically immaculate with its wheat-crown. She grinned at him and he grinned in return, even his mother looked happy - one of the few times of the year that she did. Her smile was cold, but at least it was a smile.

The matriarch led the way through the archway and Gellert rode up beside Hermione to help her coax Katana through. The Longma calmed and followed the more experienced Kelpie. A strong blast of wind lashed his skin, whipping Kelpie’s mane in his face and forcing his eyes shut, then it quietened and they were standing in an identical ring of stones, only this one was in a field. It was warmer, the sun rising much earlier in the plains than the mountains. The fields were already harvested, piles of wheat lining the track which was dotted with both mounted and walking wicca. A vast array of beasts carried them - thestrals and sleipnir, Granians, Abraxans, Hippogriffs, and the occasional rarer mount like his own Kelpie and Hermione’s Longma. He even spied an unfortunate wizard who’s Morvark had snorted over one of the haystacks and set it alight. Several others hurried to assist with extinguishing it.

They trotted their mounts down the track drawing no small amount of attention. Mounted children were rare and and the Grindelwald family crests on their horse’s tack was hard to miss, even without the distinctive blue. Adults offered respectful nods as they passed and stared with barely concealed curiosity at Hermione.

They arrived at a row of pickets, tens of mounts already tied. Gellert pointed Hermione in the direction of the Herbivores and tied his Kelpie up between two thestrals; visible only as hovering harness. Hermione joined him a moment later, still clutching her apple.

‘We will put that with the rest.’ He commented, offering his arm to her. She took it happily and they slipped across the field to where a towering pile of wood would become a bonfire later in the evening. Haybales were arranged for seating and a large altar waited in the middle of a ring of barrows. A large bull was already tethered to it and produce was stacked up against it. Sheafs of barley, oats, wheat and spelt, rye and bere, beans, peas, turnips, corn, potatoes, pumpkins and parsnips, squash, carrots and apples, peaches and plums, garlic and onions, grapes and cabbage. They found a good spot for her apple, near the Grindelwald-blue bound oats and she arranged it so that the glossy red side faced out.

With the offering safely placed, they left the altar to join the other children as the adults mingled. He introduced Hermione to Berg and Alice Tunninger, who were the two children of the hosts. They were also a wealthy family and Alice was a powerful witch, her brother less so but he had always been more academic. Alice was going to be the moon for Ostara, he congratulated her and asked whether that meant she would be fertility for Beltane. She shook her head, saying that the current moon - Anneken Lintzen - would be fertility. Until he met Hermione, he always assumed that he would marry Anneken. She was a formidable witch, having been deemed powerful enough to take the position of channel in the powerful Samhain ritual at only eleven. Anneken had no real desire to be the channel though, having admitted more than once that she found the experience unsettling. He imagined she would be more than happy to take up the mantle of the key.

The conversation turned to Hermione, and she looked up in interest, the German flowing too quickly for her to be a part of the conversation.

‘So she is your family ward? What family is she from?’ Berg questioned, squinting as though he would be able to see the family magic around her.

‘No, she is a guest. Mother might perhaps sponsor her.’

‘Muggleborn?’ Alice exclaimed, surprise heavy in her voice. He knew why, the practice of taking in first generation magical children had never been one practiced by his family.

‘Yes.’ He leant in close so that the older Russians nearby couldn’t hear him, ‘She is English, apparates into the castle every day with accidental magic. Passes the wards and everything.’

The two other children gaped at him, then turned slightly awestruck gazed on the girl next to him. She smiled shyly.

Petrovna Dolohov sauntered up next to them. She was a tall girl who would be going to Durmstrang with him and Berg next year, her parents were an old family but they held little stock in the old ways. She was already betrothed to one of the silly inbred families in Britain which was something she moaned about constantly. She dragged a slender boy behind her. He was fractionally older and wore smart black dress robes, a ruffled shirt and ballroom shoes. Petrovna shoved him into the middle of the circle, gesturing furiously at him.

‘Look, look what my idiot parents have cursed me with!’ Her german was accented with the harsh overtones of Russian, making her sound even angrier than she already was. He peered more closely at the boy, noticing what had Petrovna so concerned. He wore silver cuff links and buckles, polished to a shine.

‘He is an idiot.’ Gellert remarked, glaring at the boy. He cowered backwards slightly.

‘Yes, an idiot who doesn’t even know not to wear silver to a sun festival! I warned him, I warned him!’ Gold sparks shot from her fingers, singing the trampled corn stalks around their feet and inciting a round of laughter from everyone.

‘Perhaps you should introduce this idiot.’ Berg prompted and Petrovna scowled at him.

‘This... Durak,’ She spat the word with enough force that it could only be an insult, ‘is Rowland Yaxley.’

‘Hermione is English too.’ Alice observed but she too looked a little repulsed by the boy in the middle. ‘Perhaps you should see to his attire, Berg.’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t and Gellert’s mother will make him attend with string for a belt.’ Berg grumbled, but he led the English boy away to the mounts, presumably to take him to the distant manor for appropriate clothes. Petrovna turned to Hermione and engaged the girl in conversation, Hermione seeming more than happy to have someone who spoke good English.

The clear notes of a horn swelled across the field, capturing the attention of the gathered wixen. A moment of silence, then excited volume swelled as the crowd made their way to where the games would take place. Six bronze sleipnir pawed the ground, reins held by Herr Tunninger. His father would be the horse race Marshall, whilst other grandparents would be adjudicating the various other events - sword fighting, foot racing, apple bobbing, pumpkin jinxing, archery and

His group of friends started with archery which Alice won with such a margin that it hardly seemed fair. Hermione came closest, but that was because she’d been using her magic to force the arrow to land in the centre of the target. If she was any older it would have been considered bad sport but at her age everyone just laughed and applauded as it was clearly unintentional. Berg returned in time for a sword fight which Gellert soundly won, then he wiped the floor with the Yaxley boy. Hermione was talked through her first lesson by a surprisingly gentle Petrovna, then the Russian witch flattened Alice in the ring.

The English boy took the crown with the apple bobbing (being the only one to successfully retrieve one, then with a gallant bow offered the fruit to his betrothed. Petrovna seemed to find the gesture romantic enough to allow him into the conversation, although she didn’t unbend enough from the belt buckle debacle to take his arm.

Yaxley also won the foot race, then Gellert took the pumpkin jinxing title, with Hermione trailing him by only a single pumpkin, despite having only learned the spell by the kindness of the old wizard adjudicating the event. The elderly man had chortled merrily as the young witch sent shards of pumpkin splatting against the backdrop, then laughed even harder when he counted the scores at the end. Both Grindelwald children had scored among the adults.

The real highlight of the games would always be the horse racing, and where the adult races had always been a spot of fun, the children’s races drew a massive crowd. The bronze sleipnir had already had a long day and their flanks steamed despite the warm day. The crowd applauded as Gellert helped Hermione mount, then mounted his own horse. Alice helped Berg mount, then had to step back as she was technically too old for this race. He recognised several other children as their siblings mounted them - the Hawdon twins, Albert Friedl who was a year younger than him and Mareike Dünhaupt.

He grinned over at Hermione and Petrovna, then edged his sleipnir closer to the line.

The crowd fell silent. Herr Tunninger introduced them all, then counted down from three.

None of them stood a chance.

Hermione’s horse shot away like an arrow from a bow, the tiny weight of the girl on it’s back almost unnoticeable and her fingers clinging onto the beast’s mane for dear life. The other children, older and heavier on the already tired horses lagged behind until they swept over the line a length behind the young witch in the lead. Gellert came next, perhaps the better rider despite being heavier than Friedl, and Petrovna came after him. One of the Hawdons had fallen, seemingly barged off by his brother and Frau Hawdon hauled the remaining boy off his sleipnir and jinxed him with a knee reversal until he apologised to his brother.

Gellert’s mother nodded in congratulations to them both, then swept off to her allies and let them be enveloped by less aloof adults. Gellert was careful to hold Hermione as a certain distance, it wouldn’t do for his family to associate with the general public for more than brief conversations. They didn’t need to know the intimates of the Grindelwald family - even the details of Hermione’s relationship to the family needn’t be bandied about.

After the race came the feast; whole sides of roast beef, boar, pheasant and hare, honeyed pumpkins and squash and fresh peas and beans. The children’s table was attended by a pair of elves and Gellert as the superior of their group carved and served the beef. Hermione made conversation with the Yaxley boy who seemed to be vaguely unsettled. He could almost imagine how the ancient sponsorship custom grated at his British sensibilities, how he would be hating being forced to talk to a muggleborn whom in European society, which with his betrothal he had to respect, ranked higher than him.

Dessert came out when the volume level rose again; pumpkin pie, apple torte, blackberry crumble, topped with whipped cream and custard.

Night had fallen by the time the horn blew again and a drumbeat started up from the altar. A wave of magic rolled through the gathering, dark and familiar. His mother summoned them to the ritual. An expectant hush fell across the gathering as they all stood and made their way over to the altar.

It was lit by four torches, one at each corner. A torch sat at the top of each barrow, creating golden pools of flickering light that only made the shadows darker.

His mother, the ritual host, already waited, behind her, two woman in black cloaks beat on the drums. His mother raised a golden horn to her lips and blew again. Alice took Hermione’s hand from him and passed him Hermione’s cloak, guiding her forward to the semi-circle of witches that formed around the altar. Gellert fell back with the other men and boys; Harvest was a woman’s ritual. His eyes remained pinned to Hermione’s distinctive brown hair as she joined the circle between Alice and Frau Dolohov. Her white gown wavered like a ghost around her pale form, a contrast to the deep red of Frau Dolohov. Alice too wore white, but the next white dress was several witches down the circle. 

Once the circle was formed, his mother raised the horn again, the drumbeats built to a rolling crescendo, then stopped as a pure note left the horn.

There was a moment of silence, then Lady Grindelwald greeted the key; Frau Tunninger. Tunninger stepped forwards and the chains either side of her raised their hands and rested them on her shoulders.

Tunninger raised her arms and called out that she stood ready with a coven. Behind her, the witches murmured that they were ready and they were the coven. A beat of the drum rolled out from behind the altar.

‘And what would your coven do?’ His mother called. Magic sparkled between Tunninger’s raised hands. Another drum beat rolled out.

‘We would bless this harvest, that it may last the winter.’ Tunninger called, and the other witches echoed her. The magic shimmered along the two arcs of witches.

‘Let it be heard, they would bless this harvest, that it may last the winter.’ His mother repeated to the darkness behind the altar. The drum beat twice.

Tunninger repeated her words, echoed by the witches to either side in a sibilant whisper. The drums beat rapidly, quietly at first but building in a steady crescendo as the chanting witches grew louder. Glittering, shimmering magic wound between them, twining around hands, swirling towards the chains and glowing between the raised hands of the key. The light grew brighter and brighter, glowing like a sun as the volume grew louder and louder.

Then the horn cut through the sound like a knife, silencing the witches and the drums. A wind blew through the barrows, extinguishing the torches. The only light was the glowing magic between Tunninger’s arms.

‘I have come.’ Anneken Lintzen intoned. She was resplendent in gold, her dress reflecting the light of the magic. ‘I will bless this harvest, that it may last the winter. What will you give me?’

‘They give you this bull, that it’s life may sustain you. They bring their magic, that it may support you.’ Lady Grindelwald’s head was bowed, her dress so black that she appeared as little more than a shadow.

‘Then I shall bless this harvest, that it may last the winter. Bring me the life.’ She held out a golden athame and a hollowed pumpkin.

The horn rang clear again, the drums beat a steady rhythm. Lady Grindelwald took the knife and strode to the bull.

‘I bring you the life.’ She cried, slashing the athame across the bull’s throat. It bellowed in pain, the sound echoing with the drums as the animal collapsed to the altar. His mother rose, holding the pumpkin aloft. It glowed from within with a deep, crimson light.

‘I take this life, that it may sustain me.’ Anneken took the pumpkin and drank the contents. It’s crimson glow shimmered through her. Then she walked forwards, her toes brushing the edge of the altar as she reached out towards Tunninger.

‘I take your magic, that it may support me.’ She touched the glowing ball, light flashing bright enough to leave him blinking. When his sight cleared, Anneken glowed brightly, flames licked at her skin, reflecting on her gold dress. Her hair stirred in a nonexistent breeze and her eyes glowed orange.

‘I bless this harvest, that it may last the winter.’ She took the athame from his mother and cut her hands. Blood spilled, flaming and glowing, into the pumpkin. The glow faded as the blood left her, until his mother deemed it full.

‘You have blessed this harvest, it will last the winter. We thank you, and our magic will heal you.’ The cuts healed and Anneken sagged backwards. The two drummers hurried forwards to help her from the altar. Lady Grindelwald turned to the assembled witches.

‘We have received a blessing. Would you have me distribute it?’ She demanded and Tunninger answered. His mother dipped her hand into the pumpkin, flames licking her fingers. She flicked the blood at the produce at her feet and it glowed as it landed, twinkling like a star before extinguishing. She repeated the action, moving slowly around the altar until everything had received the blessing.

‘We have blessed our crops. We will have a plentiful winter. Now, we shall rejoin our men and celebrate the strength of our bonds, the power of our magic.’ Lady Grindelwald called. She pointed her hands at the bonfire and it roared to life. Applause thundered through the men and they surged forwards, embracing family members and friends. Gellert was quick to find Hermione.

She was practically vibrating with magical energy, despite how draining the ritual had been - a sure sign that she was really too powerful to just be part of the circle. He murmured congratulations to her and she rewarded him with a blinding smile. He led her to the fire and offered her a toffee apple. She accepted it and gleefully bit into the fruit as he led her towards one of the bales of hay. Anneken was already seated there, looking pale and flanked by the two witches who’d been on the drums. A crowd of admirers was already surrounding her, congratulating her on the strength of her offering and the success of the ritual. The older witch caught sight of him between the bodies around her and called them over with a smile.

‘Gellert, I haven’t seen you in a while.’ She greeted, seeming glad to have an excuse not to talk to those around them. She was older, having come of age last month and would be graduating from Durmstrang soon. Her eyes fell upon Hermione and widened almost comically. ‘Who is this?’

‘Hermione Granger.’ Hermione answered, having picked up the question.

Gellert watched Anneken’s face closely, knowing that she had been expected to marry him. There was no formal betrothal yet, but as a powerful witch it had almost been a given that she would be marrying into the Grindelwald family. He was surprised and more than a little relieved to notice she seemed to relax on seeing the girl next to him.

‘May we speak, Gellert?’ Anneken asked, shooing away the concerned drummers as she stood. Gellert offered her his arm for support and she took it, although she was several heads taller than him. They walked a little way away.

‘Gellert, is Hermione to be your wife?’ She asked frankly once they were in the shadows. Figures were beginning to dance around the bonfire.

‘I hope so.’ He replied, carefully noting her shoulders dropping slightly.

‘I’m glad.’ Anneken said. ‘I have met a wizard at school. He is strong, perhaps not the strongest, but my family have never cared. He is intelligent, handsome. I want to be his wife. You are a Grindelwald, and I don’t think I can live up to that but I was willing to try as the best match for you. If you have Hermione, then I am free to marry him.’

Gellert was speechless for a moment.

‘You are okay with this?’ He confirmed. Anneken nodded, guiding him back in the direction of Hermione.

‘I am, besides, she is a powerful witch. I hope that Alice will not be too upset when Hermione becomes the channel.’

‘I hope I might ask something of you?’ Gellert pulled the older witch to a stop before they quite broached the ring of firelight. Anneken nodded. ‘I hope that you might mentor her. She is muggleborn and doesn’t have anyone to confide in.’

Anneken considered for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

‘I want to be a part of her coven.’ Anneken decided. Gellert was unsurprised, it would have been unreasonable to not expect a demand in return. That was not what he had expected though.

‘She might not form a coven.’ He replied. Anneken laughed.

‘Oh, she will. She is far too powerful to ever be anything but a high witch. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets herself a fey blessing.’ Anneken tossed her hair over her shoulder, the gold that was woven into it glinting. ‘So, may I be part of her coven?’

‘You’ll have to negotiate that with her...’ He replied cautiously. The older witch laughed again but seemed happy with the reply. She led Gellert back to the hay bale where Hermione waited.

‘Now, go take your witch and dance. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her away from that at her first festival!’


	10. Ribbons

She had hidden her blessed apple in the shed where her parents couldn’t find it. It was meant to be displayed in the storage barn to share its blessing with the rest of the crops, but as most of their apples were in crates inn the shed, that would have to suffice. She didn’t want one of her parents to accidentally eat it, unsure what the consequences were and certain it would be dire.

She had woken from the festival long before it had drawn to a close, finding the apple beside her on the bed. The wild magic of the night before still surged through her as she lived her second harvest festival. The school had put a basked of vegetables on an orange cloth in the chapel and the priest droned on for a bit about how God had blessed them. It all felt rather dull and drab and she wondered at how much had been lost in the past century. As far as she was aware, even muggles had celebrated harvest back then.

The biggest surprise came on Sunday. She received a summons from the duelling room where she and Gellert were working on shield charms. She glanced nervously over to Gellert, his own tight expression mirroring hers, then at his bidding she hurried from the room.

The path to Lady Grindelwald’s drawing room was familiar now, she had had several morning meetings with her potential sponsor. The doors were shut, and she knocked smartly against the frame - it always seemed slightly sacrilegious to knock against the carved unicorns. The summons was familiar too, a sharp “herein” barked by the stern woman who was to become her magical guardian.

What was unfamiliar was the second witch in the room. She wore blood red robes, trimmed in black with a fur lined cloa hanging over her shoulder. Blond hair was braided up over her hair into a crown, secured with a ruby comb. Hermione rose from her curtesy as the witch turned towards her, vaguely recognising the witch who’d played the sun in the harvest ritual. Her friendly smile was a direct contrast to Lady Grindelwald’s stern expression but there was a glow of pleasure deep within the older woman’s eyes.

‘Hermione, Anneken requested to meet with you.’ Lady Grindelwald didn’t turn away, but it was evident she was impatient to move on to more important matters. ‘An elf will show you to a suitable room.’

Flighty popped up and Anneken stood with envious grace. Hermione would bet her right hand no teacups would have dropped from her head with the movement. Her robe was like a dress, with a slit cut up the left side to above her knee. She wore black boots, and the long cloak over her shoulder helped to cover her exposed leg when she walked. The dress was a little more scandalous than she imagined Gellert was used to, but Lady Grindelwald seemed to find the style inoffensive. Hermione felt very childish in her little blue petticoats as she hurried to keep up.

The room they were taken to was just off the children’s wing and a step less opulent than the room she usually met with Lady Grindelwald in. It was certainly a day room though, with pale green settees and wallpaper, pale parquet floors and a delicate fireplace. Flighty lit the fire with a snap of her fingers and Anneken took a seat. Hermione served the delicate french earl grey and passed it to the older witch who was watching with a critical eye.

They sat in awkward silence, Hermione watching the fire and Anneken watched her. The tea cooled to drinkable and Hermione took a sip. Anneken’s sat cooling on the side table.

‘I owe you thanks.’ Anneken said into the silence, lifting her hand to show a sparkling ruby bracelet. ‘I was to become the next Lady Grindelwald, but you’ve released me from that obligation. My father signed my betrothal to the man I love last night.’

Hermione made congratulatory noises and Anneken sat back with a light laugh.

‘Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I know exactly what you’re going through. I’d like to be something of a mentor to you, if you’d like. Lady Grindelwald isn’t exactly someone you can share things with...’

‘What do you want in return?’ Hermione asked suspiciously, remembering suddenly Lady Grindelwald’s warnings about never trusting someone’s intentions. Anneken seemed delighted by her answer and leaned forwards conspiratorially.

‘I want to be a part of your coven.’

‘My coven?’

‘Well, you’ll have your own coven of course. You’d hardly be anything but a high witch with the potential you have. I want to be a part of it.’ Assuming you take Alice and that Russian girl as well as whatever girls end up attending Hogwarts with you...’

‘Hogwarts?’ Hermione interrupted. The girl’s accent was light, but she was certain she’d miss heard the word.

‘Oh, Hogwarts is the British school. Lady Grindelwald told me that you will not attend Durmstrang.I don’t understand her choice, Britain has always been restrictive of true magic, perhaps because they prioritise bloodlines over power. They have all but bred true power out of their old families and many no longer have the ability to perform more than basic wizardry. You would learn far more at Durmstrang, but it is not my place to question. Instead I will endeavour to fill in the gaps in your education.’

‘Gaps?’ Hermione echoed, feeling a little overwhelmed. She had private tutors five days per week and met with Lady Grindelwald for a morning. Her homework load was colossal and she wasn’t even at real magic school yet.

‘Oh, Lady Grindelwald will educate you, but she is traditional and tradition is being left behind. I want to teach you to bring tradition into the 19th Century!’ Hermione’s mind flashed to the daring slit in her dress-robe. She’d been wearing a similarly bold dress for the ritual, the metallic cloth had hugged her down to her thighs, then flared out. Her shoulders had only just been covered too, by a set of gold beaded epaulettes. Hers had been a grandmother’s nightgown in comparison.

‘I don’t want to offend Lady Grindewald.’

‘Oh, you wont. You’d offend her more by following her every whim.’ Anneken dismissed her with a casual wave of her hand. ‘Grindelwalds are leaders, not followers. We must wait a couple of years of course, but she would be disappointed if you didn’t eventually argue with her.’

The older witch instructed her to stand and they moved over to the brightest area of the room near the window. Anneken’s first lesson consisted of learning her skin tone - neutral, Anneken was cool. That meant she could wear pretty much anything whist Anneken had to limit herself to certain colours. The other girl made her unbraid her hair next and held it up to the light, identifying the exact colour. Hermione had always called her hair brown, but under Anneken’s rules it becamewarm coco. The witch them performed a very impressive charm, conjuring a mirror and pulling her hair into different styles. She had a large forehead, something that Anneken said in a manner so factual that it somehow wasn’t offensive. She was shown how to brush her fringe in such a way that it narrowed and shortened the top of her head.

Anneken instructed her on a series of charms and potions that would help her fall smoothly, but recommended that she avoid them until after her bleed - her hair was a magical extension of herself and stunting it could stunt her magical growth. Until then she would have to use braided hairstyles to force it into submission.

Her twin braids weren’t good enough. But if she pinned the two braids backwards around her head like a headband, she was making her chin look angelic and pointy... She was certain that she missed half of the lecture, but everything said was fashion gold.

The next Monday she tried out the hairstyle at school, receiving a couple of surprised looks for her efforts. The next day she wore her hair in a bun, brushing a couple of strands down beside her face to stop it being too severe. One of Jessica Manly’s friends complimented the style, saying it looked very adult.

She hated that her classmates would only like her if her hair was done up, but this was not a competition she intended to lose. She had set herself behind on day one with the salad in her lunch, and it was unlikely that she would ever get anything but salad. She would have to become doubly cool to make up for it, cool enough to set the trends.

Muggle school, she decided, would be her practice run. She would make her mistakes here, learn her lessons, practice and then, by the time she made her debut into Hogwarts, she would be ready to become a leader like Lady Grindelwald.

The next day she twisted gold ribbons through her hair (gold was okay to wear with her warm coco...). She packed a second pair of gold ribbons and when Jessica’s friend made another compliment, Hermione offered to do the same for her. The girl seemed a little nervous but eventually her desire for the hairstyle won out. Hermione braided her hair, talking about how lucky the other girl was to have such beautiful straight hair.

The day after she french braided it, but used the same ribbon in both braids so it crossed her head like a headband. The other girl - Lily, brought a couple of others this time and they’d all brought their own ribbons. Hermione took them with a smile and held the ribbons up to the girls. Then she carelessly noted that one of them really shouldn’t be wearing lilac with her hair tone, and recommended she swap for the emerald that another girl had. By the end of lunch she was officially the fashion guru. Jessica apparently knew nothing about hair tones.

The day after that she had a couple of butterfly pins down the length of a Dutch fishtail and finally Jessica joined her at lunch. The other girls all had clumsy imitations of her ribbon braids, Jessica included. The other girl, desperate to regain some control over the situation, looked at the carrot sticks in Hermione’s lunch box and made a disparaging comment. Hermione looked over hers and sneered in return.

‘Ew are those quavers? Do you know how many calories are in those?’ She sneered. The girls all tittered and one pulled her own quavers from her box.

‘OMG! There’s like, 88 calories and half of that is fat.’ The girl exclaimed. ‘That’s terrible.’

Hermione smugly crunched on her celery sticks. Score 1-0 Hermione.


	11. Memories

Gellert’s fingers rested lightly against Hermione’s, their hands splayed but palms not touching. In the space between their palms, a miniature hurricane brewed. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing - her witchcraft was always abstract, achieving some goal only she knew. His magic melded with hers, and she wove strands of it through her own in a beautiful but abstract pattern.

Or perhaps she actually had no idea what she was doing and was just playing with the strands of her magic. Maybe she had no aim whatsoever and was just fiddling with their magic to see what happened. They certainly had enough of it between them.

Ah, she’d somehow turned the hurricane into a glass ball. He had no idea how she’d done that, perhaps by adding that glowing strand of her magic there... or perhaps she had just shuffled it all up differently and made a completely new spell.

He pulled out that strand to see if perhaps it turned it back into a storm. It didn’t instead the glass just went cloudy as the other magical strands of its structure fragmented. Hermione didn’t seem to mind, stirring their magic into a cohesive whole rather than strands and sculpting a bird. Gellert helped her, the aim was clear this time. Then he breathed life into it and the bird fluttered crimson wings. Hermione poked it a couple of times and suddenly it was a miniature dragon. It was taller and thinner than any he’d ever seen with huge spines in a single line down it’s back.

It was an interesting observation - one could form objects by sculpting, or by simply imagining its form. An unnecessary observation really, he’d already known that, as had Hermione. She had begun to weave her magic over the form of the dragon, reminding him amusingly of a horse blanket. The image must have been too strong in his mind because suddenly the dragon had been replaced by a horse blanket.

Hermione huffed and dropped her hands. Her magic withdrew, leaving him with the darkness of his own. He’d never realised his magic was dark, it had just felt like magic. Then Herr Brun had first had them join their magic and he’d first felt hers. It was white gold, hot and bright, foreign yet familiar. It was the feeling of the morning sun first rising over the horizon, those first rays that lit the world. His own was like sunset, a dark, still peace. Their magics were polar opposites, cold and hot, light and dark, fire and water, sun and moon. It was what made their combined magic so strong, and it was why his mother had insisted they start this exercise so soon.

‘I want to make it with a spell.’ Hermione huffed in annoyance.

‘The whole point is that its not a spell.’ He grumbled.

‘No, I want to discover the spell to make it.’

‘That’s not how spells work, Hermione!’ Gellert tried his hardest not to laugh. She looked a little put out.

‘So how does it work? I want to make a spell!’ Huffed the witch, folding her arms across her chest.

‘A spell is just a word to direct the wand, the wand directs the magic. Your magic does the work.’

‘Isn’t that easy then?’ Hermione asked, missing the point.

‘Well yes, its easy to say the word and make a dragon.’ He opened his hand as he said the word and a dragon appeared from his hand, spiralling up into the air. ‘But that’s because you can focus your mind to control your magic. Those who can’t feel their magic need a wand, the word tells the wand what to do. You need to have a close bond with your wand to be able to make spells that work.’

Hermione sat for a moment, then huffed.

‘So I need my wand to make a spell?’ She concluded, looking to where Herr Brun had left it on the desk.

‘No, that’s not your wand, that wand doesn’t understand your magic. When you are eleven, you will get the wand built for you. After you have used it for years, you might be able to speak to it.’

Hermione deflated and he instantly felt bad.

‘But you don’t need to create spells when you can do magic like this. Look, I can show you something.’ Gellert waved his hands in a circle and a stone bowl filled with shimmering silver liquid materialised in front of him. He tapped the surface and a memory of last Samhain appeared. The witches raised the spirits of their ancestors, opening the veil as the wizards flew on brooms around the circle of stones, jinxing malevolent spirits back to the other side. The dead feasted and danced with them, celebrating late around a pyre before swooping through the fields to punish lazy harvesters - those who had left food out in the fields - by filling them with maggots.

Hermione watched with avid fascination, then waved her hands too, creating a black box. It buzzed with black and white flecks and she touched a patch of green on the side. A picture appeared, like a pensive. Hermione, wearing a black, skin-tight outfit, bones drawn in white on it. Three other children ran with her, one a girl with a green painted face and pointed witch hat, one wearing a sheet with three holes cut for his eyes and mouth and another wrapped in rolls of thin, papery fabric. They hurried down the street clutching brightly coloured pumpkins made from a strange glass. Skeletons and graves, spider’s webs and orange bunting decorated the rows of houses, all glowing with a strange, constant magic. Yet they were all muggles.

Hermione jumped and squealed as a miniature skeleton popped up from a coffin before recovering herself and knocking on the door. An adult dressed in a light, silky black cloak with a deep hood drawn up over his head answered the door and beckoned them all inside.

The strange light lit this room too, coming from a glowing orb near the ceiling. Music drifted through the room but there was no musician, not even an instrument. Adults drifted around in the next door room; one splatted with tomato sauce, another whose blue trousers and green shirt needed attention from a house elf, his leg needed attention from a healer too if the way he was dragging his leg was anything to go by. A woman walked past in a slinky red dress with a tutu, tail trailing on the floor behind her and little horns poking up from her hair.

He assumed they were all dressed up for Samhain, although there seemed to be no theme to the costumes. He looked over at the green painted girl again, wondering if that’s what muggles thought a witch looked like.

‘You sure about this American trick-or-treat business? It sounds awfully dangerous.’ One of the adults who’d followed Hermione in muttered to another.

‘I don’t like it, but all those films have convinced the kids that its a real Halloween tradition.’ The other replied. Hermione ended the spell.

Gellert wondered what on earth that strange glowing light was and how it worked. It couldn’t be that their area had a benevolent witch to create it for them, not only would that be completely against the statute but any witch would have snatched Hermione up in a moment.

Unless it was some new muggle technology, perhaps one that they had only started using in England. He had heard rumours of candles that ran using something called “electricity” in some cities but he’d never seen one and had heard they were expensive and unreliable. He’d also heard that they couldn’t be used in conjunction with magic.

Hermione’s Samhain celebration was strange though; he knew the British wizarding society had let things slip, but he hadn’t realised how far. The statute of secrecy may mean they couldn’t mingle with muggles like they used to, but the muggles still remembered them. The muggles knew that it was wixen who blessed their crops, or cursed them if they were undeserving. Samhain was the one day of the year where they could still take their place, where they could remind muggles of their existence and why they should be feared. It seemed in Britain they had allowed the muggles to forget how reliant they were on the Wixan blessings... or had they stopped performing blessings at all. Alice and his mother had both suggested on separate occasions that the inbreeding the British families engaged in weakened them until proper rituals became almost unattainable. He’d heard rumours that most people couldn’t even perform wandless magic.

The British also had their ministry of magic; a body made up of witches and wizards who were of such status that they had to work, usually lesser families with no respect for traditions. He had heard of the extensive lists of spells that were illegal there, he wondered whether blood magic, and therefore most rituals fell under that list.

He much preferred the German system - one could duel for the title, if one held the title, one was essentially king. The King never lasted long - usually they would manage a year or so before angering one of the powerful noble families. They would be removed, a more malleable candidate found and the cycle would begin again. His mother had disposed of three kings in Gellert’s lifetime, believing them to be too light and likely to outlaw her rituals. The Tunninger patriarch had removed a King for seeming to interested in his wife. The whims of the old families were mercurial.


	12. Snow

The air smelled different in Germany. She didn’t know if it was the height or the lack of engines or perhaps some magical factor, but she loved to sit on her window seat for a couple of minutes after arrival each day. She always opened the window, allowing the icy air to chill her skin and her breath to mist. Then, once she’d had her fill and her fingers were going numb on the stone sill, she would shut the heavy glass panes and warm her hands by the roaring fire.

The castle was a different place during winter too - furs and blankets were piled on every chair and fires roared in the grates. It was darker too, the sun sparkling through the windows less often as it struggled to rise over the hills behind them. Rain often lashed the building, louder against the old glass than it was in England and wind whistled through gaps around windows and doors. With daylight harder to come by, light itself was a commodity. One couldn’t just turn on a bright, electric lamp, one had to light candles. The candles would provide a circle of light, a small area where it was light enough to read, but one could only do so for a couple of minutes before ones eyes ached and the letters began to blur. She became hugely proficient at witchlights, which she would hover above her book so that she could see clearly.

The day’s schedule had to change too - they would turn up to lessons just as the sun rose, but then would have to finish earlier as the sun set. Hermione’s dancing lessons came to a close and were replaced by sword fighting, which was apparently an essential predecessor to duelling. Broomstick flying was also finished for the year and was taken over by table manners. Hermione had no idea that anyone really cared for the difference between a tea spoon and a coffee spoon - one was fractionally smaller than the other. The difference was really negligible and certainly only recognisable when one held the two up next to each other. Silver spoons couldn’t be used for caviar or boiled eggs and the oyster fork should be placed to the right, unlike every other fork.

Her parents were progressive, so the manners lessons seemed to her to be pointless and infuriating. It took a guilt trip from Gellert to finally get her to take the lessons with even a modicum of her usual dedication. He had to point out that it was a reflection on his family and the upbringing provided if she couldn’t obey all the silly rules. Hermione thought it was all rather contrary to Lady Grindelwald’s constant lectures about power and bowing to no one... no one except the steak knife it seemed, or perhaps the author of “A compendium of table settings and their appropriate occasions.”

Her greatest concern however was that Gellert clearly had no concept of how winter could be fun. The snow fell only days after Halloween - or Samhain as Gellert called it.

She’d missed the celebration with his family; as desperate as she had been to attend a festival that they clearly believed to be so important, her real life had gotten in the way. Her parents had been invited to a Halloween party and even though children were invited, it hadn’t been aimed at them so there’d been no provisions for ‘reasonable bed time’. She’d ended up trailing behind her parents as they walked home well past midnight when no taxi would service such a distant London suburb when there were far more profitable rides in the city centre. By the time she had stripped off her makeup, the sun was peaking through the curtains and she only managed to toss in bed before giving up and deciding to read a novel for pleasure. With no sleep, came no visit to Gellert’s. His mother had said it was only natural that she would want to celebrate her ancestors with her own family and Hermione didn’t correct her on her assumptions of 20th century Halloween customs.

She woke on a Sunday to a bright white light and threw open the window to see that a thick blanket of snow covered the upper reaches of the hills the castle was built on. The valley below was frosted and smoke spiralled from chimneys. The trees had lost their last golden leaves and against the snow they looked black and bony. The starkness continued to the castle, the living metal dragons of the gates had shaken the snow off their backs and wings and towered above the otherwise white scene. The lawns and gardens were a blanket of white, an elf having pruned all the plants back for winter several weeks ago, but the sculptures and trellises that formed the landscape were now frosted into ice sculptures.

She flew down the stairs to Gellert’s room and burst through the doors, launching herself onto his fur covered bed and bouncing on him until he woke up.

‘Snow, Gellert, Snow!’ She cried as her friend blearily blinked his eyes open. He groaned and tried to roll over but her weight across his torso effectively immobilised him.

‘Hermione.’ He finally mumbled, surrendering to her insistence. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s snowed.’ She informed him, jumping off his bed and throwing open his windows. A blast of wintery air blustered through the room, lifting sheets of parchment from his desk and sending him scurrying towards the clothes laid out for him with a string of colourful curses he definitely hadn’t learned from his mother.

She let him curse to himself in German as he hurriedly pulled on clothes behind the screen, despite it being an english day. When he finally emerged in his usual white shirt and went for a light jersey she dove into his wardrobe, ignoring all protests about propriety, and pulled out more appropriate clothes.

‘We’re not going out are we?’ Gellert looked dubiously at the thick fur cloak, hat and gloves she’d shoved into his arms, then looked to the pair of gloves she was already pulling on. Her borrowed fur hat was already on her head.

‘Of course we are!’ She said decisively.

‘Your ideas are always terrible.’ Gellert lamented but followed her anyway.

The halls were frigid and Hermione was glad for the warmth of the old fashioned clothes she wore. She had to force the small side door open with her shoulder, scraping a thick drift of snow behind it. Then she was stepping out into a crystalline fairy land, like something out of the nutcracker. She sprung forwards, her feet crunching on light, dry powder. A moment later Gellert’s set of footsteps joined her.

She danced out into the yard, spinning her feet so that puffs of powder drifted up around her. The castle towered above her head, the sun just peeking over the hills and lighting the icicles on the turrets and setting the windows alight with fractured rainbows.

She held her hands out to Gellert, offering him the opening stance of a waltz and she led him, twirling and spinning through the archway, out of the yard and into the walled gardens. In here it was a maze of calf height hedges, dark evergreen plants and frozen water features. He didn’t seem to mind the dancing, although he seemed puzzled. Eventually she stopped, falling breathless and warm onto one of the snow covered benches.

‘Isn’t it beautiful, Gellert?’ She asked breathlessly. The young wizard looked around them.

‘I guess so.’ He replied dubiously.

‘We need to have a snow fight.’ She declared, bending over on the bench and scooping up a handful of snow. It was really a little too powdery for snowballs, but she managed to get something vaguely structural.

‘A snowball fight.’ Gellert deadpanned.

‘Yes, yes, like the food fight but with snow instead.’ She insisted, weighing the snowball. Gellert looked unconvinced. ‘Oh come on, you enjoyed the food fight.’ She insisted, springing up and dashing away from him. He stood reluctantly and scooped up his own snowball. She allowed him a couple of seconds of grace to figure out the technique, then launched her own ball at him. It imploded into dust before it hit him and a light shower drifted down between them.

She scooped up another ball and closed the distance. Gellert’s nailed her on the shoulder, hers soared over his head. He decided magic was allowed, wandlessly bewitching snowballs to make themselves was he scooped them up and launched them. Less advanced, Hermione opted to make them manually and spell them to follow him, which was much easier to make her magic do.

She ducked behind a large trellis, then dropped to her stomach to army crawl behind one of the knee high hedges. A snowball brushed the hedge above her head and the branches dumped a small mound of snow on her unhooded head. She squeaked as it touched her neck and leapt up, throwing caution to the wind. She lobbed unformed handfuls of snow in Gellert’s direction, her magic holding them together until they hit.

Gellert seemed to judge this to be real duelling, because he conjured a nebulous snow-blob to start attacking her. She batted her arms at it ineffectively, then realised Gellert had made the fatal mistake of venturing to the deep snow beneath an apple tree. She magically pulled on a laden branch and a heavy thump signalled that the glittering frosting of snow had fallen.

‘Help me!’ He called as he dug his cloak out from the pile, the trailing end having caught beneath the debris. Hermione almost took that as his surrender, but then several elves appeared and like a general he directed them to attack her. She summoned her own elf who seemed only too happy to help her defend her honour and the garden turned into a war zone of enchanted snowballs, strange monsters and joyful laughs. Hermione whipped between topiaries, hair flying and a defensive shield of wind and snow batting snowballs away from her as she manually pelted the magically formed snowballs Flighty provided.

‘What are you doing!’ A cold voice demanded and it was like a fresh breath of winter had swept through the garden as elves and humans froze. The enchantments faded, snow monsters disappearing and Hermione’s shield dissipating. Gellert emerged from a wall of snow almost certainly higher than what should have been possible to create with the amount of snow on the ground.

He looked terrified, and when it seemed after a moment as though he wasn’t going to speak up, Hermione curtsied deeply.

‘We were engaging in a snow fight, Lady Grindelwald. It seemed like a good way to practice duelling.’ She answered, meeting Gellert’s gaze quickly before looking back up at the fearsome lady of the house. She wore furs, black as pitch from head to toe and a pair of heeled boots that just peeked out from below the hem of her dress. As usual, her wand was held in her neatly folded hands.

‘Duelling?’ Lady Grindelwald questioned, her tone sounding intrigued but still colder than the air that misted around them.

‘Yes.’ Hermione answered firmly. Lady Grindelwald’s chin rose slightly and she gestured towards the gardens.

‘By all means then, let us duel, if you are so eager for the practice.’ The woman replied. Cool foreboding trickled through the young witch, but she and Gellert hurried off to the far end of the gardens anyway.

‘We’re in so much trouble.’ Gellert murmured, glancing back to where Lady Grindelwald was now a small black figure against the towering doors.

‘Let’s work together, like we do in classes. The better we do, the less angry she’ll be.’ Hermione decided, holding her hands up. Usually they sat for this, but in this case it seemed prudent to stand. Gellert had no better ideas and joined his palms to hers, linking their magic in a way that was beginning to become intimately familiar.

‘I’ll handle attack, see if you can make that wind shield you had before.’ The young wizard instructed. Hermione drew their magic together into searing ropes of fire around them, superheating some areas whilst the snow cooled others. It only took a small magic to harness the resulting wind into a swirling storm of fire and wind. Gellert reached out beyond, forming balls of snow and making them hover, ready for launch.

Across the garden, Lady Grindelwald was creating a bigger storm, swirling her wand and hand around her head. The sky darkened, clouds sinking and bulging ominously. Gellert launched their snow balls and they zinged off her shield with flashes of bright magic, whilst the storm overhead grew. The air took on an ominous yellow tint and Hermione drew the fire above their head into a dome. It quickly became sweltering inside.

‘Don’t burn us alive.’ Gellert said, eyeing the strangely blue and purple flames nervously.

‘Concentrate.’ Hermione gritted. He quickly returned to launching snowballs, then a hissing sound filled her ears. The temperature dropped considerably and Hermione gritted her teeth, adding more fire to try and keep out the enchanted snowstorm that was beginning to pummel them. Gellert took a leaf from her book and pulled the snow from the castle roof. His mother deflected it, but the intensity of the storm lessened for a moment and Hermione was able to shrink their fire shield, reducing the area it had to protect.

Their joint magical reserves were getting lower, the fire was hard to maintain. Hermione cut the shield down again until it was a swirling disk-shaped shield that acted a bit like an umbrella, shielding them from the lashing ice and snow. Gellert desperately launched a last assault on his mother, but it was foiled, and a moment later the shield collapsed and the two children huddled together, shielding themselves as best they could with their cloaks.

Within minutes, Hermione’s fingers were numb inside her gloves and her teeth were chattering so hard she could barely hear herself wondering when Lady Grindelwald would realise they were beaten. Gellert’s lips were turning blue, frost forming on his eyelashes and thickly crusted on his hat. His hood had been blown off and he’d hunched his neck down into his shoulders, seeming resigned to waiting.

Hours or seconds later, Hermione wasn’t sure, the storm abated. It disappeared as quickly as it had come and the sun broke through, the warmth glorious on her exposed face but unable to penetrate the thick ice over her clothes.

Gellert stood, ice cracking off his clothes and pulled Hermione up with him.

The garden in a 15 meter circle around them was destroyed, burned by Hermione’s fire. Outside that circle was under deep, deep snow. Snow that Gellert’s mother was stepping lightly across the top of, towards them.

Hermione curtsied but refused to avert her eyes like Gellert. She was proud of her magic, it was strong for someone her age, even for an adult it wouldn’t have been terrible.

‘Impressive.’ The lady admitted. ‘Your magic blends well, but you lack self awareness. You were never going to defeat me by sheer force, so you should have taken an alternative course.’

Hermione nodded and dipped a quick curtesy to acknowledge the feedback.

‘What would you have suggested?’ She asked, ignoring Gellert’s frantic tugging to be silent. Anneken had been right, and although this wasn’t a challenge, the older witch seemed pleased by Hermione’s refusal to be cowed.

‘You should have never started with such a powerful opening move, which forced me to retaliate with equal power, or you should have pressed you advantage when you brought the snow down from the tower. A third attack whilst I was maintaining the storm and defecting the snow.’ She was curtly informed. Then the witch glanced around them, blatantly false surprise on her face. She raised her wand, a book whizzing from the library and floating in front of them. Gellert flinched.

‘You will find horticultural charms in this book. Until you have repaired the damage to my gardens, you will not be allowed back inside the castle.’ The older witch glared at them, then turned and strode across the top of the snow and back inside the castle, huge doors booming closed behind her.

Gellert slumped to the floor in relief.

‘You shouldn’t talk back like that!’ He scolded, receiving a devilish grin in return.

‘I think she likes it.’ Hermione hissed as she flexed her fingers, the joints painful with cold. Gellert scoffed and pulled off his frozen gloves, revealing fingers yellow from lack of circulation. He stuck them inside his jacket with a groan.

‘This is entirely your fault.’ The wizard declared, braving the cold to thumb through the book where it hovered.

‘I don’t think I’ve got enough left to do this.’ Hermione peered over his shoulder. ‘Is regrowing bushes hard?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He murmured. ‘I mean, with our wands it should be pretty simple.’

The wizard pulled his wand out and pointed it at the nearest charred shrub, magically sweeping the snow away to reveal the broken and burned branches.

Hermione perused the book, deciphering the German instructions and reading them out to Gellert. The wizard brewed a simple potion, a subject which Hermione had yet to begin, whilst Hermione gathered cuttings from the healthy plants. She was swatted away from the cauldron several times, her curiosity not helping Gellert brew. Instead she just warmed hr hands on the little flame beneath the cauldron and listened as he identified ingredients and how he was preparing them. He let her add the cuttings, then they used the knife to carve little holes into the ground and filled them with the potion.

It smelled sweet, like cut crass and turned earth, despite the shimmering purple colour. Gellert had explained the shimmer as unicorn tail hair, which had looked like a shiny version of normal hair. The purple was a reaction between dragon dung and pixie wings, the first perhaps the source of the earthy smell.

For a moment the potion just sat in the holes, then Hermione remembered her job and covered each hole with earth. By the time she had covered the last, green shoots were poking out of the first and like watching a time lapse, the stalk squirrelled upwards, leaves unfurling and darkening. Shoots sprouted, turned woody and sprouted more until before her eyes there were wild, waist high box hedges. Gellert made quick work with the severing charms to form them back into neat shapes, and then Hermione was gladly hurrying into the kitchen where elves waited with steaming hot cocoa.


	13. Yule

This Yule was already looking to be the best ever. In previous years it had been a time fraught with danger and fear of his mother, but Hermione had an uncanny ability to mellow the fearsome witch. Traditionally he decorated the castle with his mother, boughs of evergreen trees, mistletoe and pine cones tastefully arranged over every surface. Somehow Hermione had managed to shake up his deeply traditional mother and now glittering red and gold orbs, twinkling witch lights, ribbons and conjured icicles dotted the traditional cedar and holly. The young witch had insisted upon seven whole trees in the ball room, decorating these with streams of gold and blinking five pointed stars.

His mother had indulged them, teaching them charms and helping Hermione to shape her magic to achieve her visions. By the time they had finished, the ball room looked like a winter wonderland. Enchanted snow fell, never touching the floor, icicles hung from every outcropping and the dance floor itself had been transfigured to look like blueish ice. It was a step away from their previous decorations and in Hermione’s terms, he would have described it as somehow more... magical.

He woke on Yule to find the pile of presents strangely absent, in their place a note informing him that he needed to come down to his mother’s drawing room - dress code, pyjamas. Mystified, he obliged, padding down the halls in slippers and a robe over his thick pyjamas.

He couldn’t decide whether he was more shocked or horrified to find Hermione and his mother waiting for him, around yet another of Hermione’s trees. His mother wore a robe over her nightdress and Hermione wore bright pink trousers with cartoon unicorns and a red and green jumper. The two witches were surrounded by presents and more surrounded the third empty chair. Gellert took a seat.

‘Hermione is sharing her Yule traditions with us... apparently unwrapping presents in one’s nightclothes.’ His mother explained with a bemused expression. The older witch delicately unwrapped a set of silver gilt quills and Gellert picked up his first present.

His mother had gifted him a book of environment alteration spells so that he could work on Kelpie’s stall, Anneken had gifted a new hat and Petrovna had found some shock-o-choc. Hermione’s present was wrapped in reflective blue paper, decorated with pictures of a fat man in red. He didn’t comment, assuming it must be some muggle tradition, and unwrapped it eagerly. She’d gotten him a strange quill. It had a delicate, metal nib and the spine of the feather was black, in sharp contrast to the creamy feathers. The box it came in was strange too, as there was no place in it for ink and it was far to custom fit for what was usually a disposable item.

‘It’s a self-inking quill. I came up with the idea and your mother had it made for me.’ Hermione informed him shyly. His eyes widened.

‘Wow, Hermione. That’s a great idea!’ He marvelled at such a simple solution, glancing at the quill again. ‘You’ve patented it for her, right?’ He asked his mother urgently. She looked down on him.

‘I have, Hermione and I have been working on commercialising the product in our private lessons.’ She replied imperiously, but her expression was slightly proud. Gellert felt pride run through him too - his witch was powerful, inventive and ambitious. She’d be an incredible asset to his family.

The young witch unwrapped his present with an excited exclamation- it was a book, written in English, about the history of Hogwarts school. His mother had gifted her a scale polishing set for her Longma and a beginner’s potion set. It was childish, but Hermione seemed thrilled by the frog’s eyeballs and bee’s thoraxes. He’d bought his mother a set of oriental acromantula silk gloves and Hermione had gifted her a tin box of home made chocolate treats.

With that part of the day out of the way, Hermione was banished up to her room to get ready whilst Gellert was sent to do a last minute revision of his role for the evening. By the time he returned to his room, his outfit for the night had been laid out.

He felt odd, pulling on what was essentially a crimson dress, skirts included. The heavy, white over robe with decorative gold hems. Then his elf popped in to help fasten a complex arrangements of paulrons and tabards, a third robe with billowing white sleeves, and finally a gold mask, engraved with flames and suns. Finally, he pulled the heavy, deep hood over his head and looked himself in the mirror.

The crimson skirt just peeked out when he walked, otherwise the white robe swept the floor, and ornate gold suns and flames licked the hems. The collar of the robe stuck up over pointed pauldrons like the rays of the sun emblazoned on his chest. The deep shadow of the hood hid all but the golden mask.

He joined Hermione in the entrance hall, pausing for a moment to take in her dress - white, with a blue and gold robe in a classical, Grecian style that looked elegant and mature, somehow above all the frilly dresses that most wore. Her hair was done up with gold pins and bright sprigs of ivy, several curls artfully arranged as they fell down her back.

They chatted for half an hour, then Gellert was sent to the ball room to a golden throne on the far raised dais. He took his seat just as the first guests arrived - the Lord and Lady Tunninger, with both of their children. The family stopped in surprise when they entered, taking in the glittering, ice clad walls and glowing witch lights in the trees that reflected off the icy polished floor. The golden throne where Gellert sat was a ruby of heat and fire - as though lava moved beneath the ice and reflected in massive floor to ceiling ice flows.

The family quickly made their way up to the dais and placed a basket of clove-spiked oranges at his feet. He nodded benignly as them as the patriarch spoke the ritual words of offering before heading over to the table, laden with Hermione’s strange menu.

‘This all looks incredible, Gellert.’ Alice whispered before she was whisked away.

What followed then was an almost constant stream of guests bearing home made, fragrant offerings until he was enveloped in a cloud of warm, sweet spice. Each one spoke the same words and each offering came imbued with magic which hummed gently at the edge of his awareness.

Petrovna’s family arrived, sans Petrovna, as did Mareike and the Hawdon twins. The room steadily grew louder, the unusual yet spectacular decorations the main focus of conversation. The Grindelwald family had hosted Yule for as long as anyone could remember, in the same way as they had always hosted Samhain and Beltane, but the hall had looked the same every year - massive arches decorated with holly and cedar, pine branches and cones over golden gilded stucco. This year was a remarkable difference and a blatant reminder of the power of his family, perhaps one that was well due. After all, no small magic had gone into the decorations.

Hermione seemed to be mixing with the adults rather than the children, flanked by Anneken in a glorious crimson dress with a gold girdle. A man held Anneken’s arm, his dress robes trimmed in crimson so match her dress. Finally, it seemed everyone had arrived and it was time for the real celebration to begin. His mother nodded to him.

He rose, raising his hands into the air. A hush fell across the hall.

‘The nights are long, my hearth is cold.’ He called, his voice carrying across the assembled gathering. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear himself speak.

‘Let us light your hearth.’ Called Herr Hawdon from the opposite end of the room. The crowd parted to let him through. The older wizard held his hands over the offerings which ignited with a rush, forming a ring of fire around Gellert’s throne. The enchantments on the ceremonial robe kept him cool, but it was still a terrifying experience as the fire roared around him. He counted to seven in his head, then called out to the gathered wizards.

‘I seek a greater fire!’ He called, as the fire began to die.

‘We shall hunt.’ Herr Hawdon promised. Gellert pushed his magic into the fire, combining the magic of all the offerings and merging them through both determination and sheer force. He was sweating from his own heat before long, but the heavily fragrant smoke was forming a shape above him. The surrounding wizards whooped and clapped as they saw the shape of bird forming. The last of the fire disappeared, sucking into the form of a black, smoky phoenix.

The bird flapped a couple of times, then swooped out of the room. Gellert hurried behind it as fast as he could in the many layers of robes, the wizards gathering into a pack behind him. Outside, mounts waited, reins held by the witches. The black, smoky bird soared over their heads and out over the forest as wizards found their mounts, received a kiss on the forehead or lips from their witch, then swung up.

In a thunder of hooves, Gellert led the chase down the path, each perilous turn instinctual to both himself and the Kelpie beneath him. Whoops, cheers and shouts echoed around him as they followed the smoky bird. The left the road in a burst of snow from bushes, barrelling between the bare trees of the lower slopes, climbing higher and higher up the hill beside the castle. He kept his eyes pinned on the black bird, trusting Kelpie to find a route. Behind him, the other wizards had lost some of their volume as the riding became more tricky.

A fierce joy surged through him as he saw the smoky bird dip, then in a flash of flame, merge with a thick tree trunk. He reined in Kelpie, pointing at the tree.

‘Behold the Yule log.’ A cheer greeted his words and then he was surrounded by hot horse flesh and breathless men. Steam rose from flanks and muzzles, hooves pawed at frozen earth and beasts snorted. The tree the phoenix had chosen was quickly cut and six men that rode winged mounts lashed it beneath them, taking off in the direction of the castle under powerful disillusionment charms.

The ride back was significantly more sedate, most people choosing to dismount and lead their exhausted horses. Kelpie was fit and more than used to the steep terrain, so Gellert remained mounted as people congratulated him on finding the Yule log. Relief was light, the weight of responsibility lifted. The ritual was by no means over, but the hardest part was done. The Yule log wasn’t always found, and those years were inevitably bad. The year his father died had been the last time; they had spent hours after the smoky wolf had vanished, combing the wood to try and find it’s mark on a tree, but nothing had been found. Two months later war broke out, six months later, Lord Grindelwald was dead.

The witches cheered them in, flying down from the highest tower where they had been spectating on brooms and following them into the ball room. The log, with it’s branches still attached but the top removed, had already been laid in the massive, purpose built hearth behind the throne.

Gellert retook his seat and silence fell again. He surveyed the flushed faces and windswept hair of the wizards as Herr Hawdon lit the log behind him.

‘The hearth is lit.’ The older wizard announced. The crackle of flame built to a roar as the log caught, but the heat couldn’t penetrate the thick robe Gellert wore.

‘I am warm. The days grow shorter, the year is new.’ He replied.

The guests applauded and a team of six house elves appeared, laden with a spitted roast which they hung over the fire. It was to the delicious smell of meat roasting over the Yule log that the orchestra struck up a song and the dance floor cleared.

Hermione clambered up beside him, congratulating him with a hug. He offered her his arm and they made their way towards the cleared space where a quadrille was forming up. They were stopped several times so that Gellert could be congratulated on his successful performance of his role, his first time as anchor in a ritual. Several people commented on his age, and a couple more predicted great things from him in a way that was perhaps meant to sound supportive but became repetitive quickly.

He danced with Hermione and two adults - the Delacours, if he remembered correctly. They had a son, but he was apparently travelling in Bulgaria and couldn’t return for Yule this year, he learned as they waited for the dance to start. Hermione’s dancing had improved significantly since the last time and she managed to perform the dance flawlessly. Her dress swirling around her feet in direct contrast to the huge hoops skirt Madame Delacour wore. Her face was happy and he wished he didn’t have to wear the mask so that he could maintain proper eye contact with her.

After the first dance, he passed her off to Berg and took his mother around the room, feeling like he was under the microscope the whole while. It was tricky dancing with someone taller, but expected and most sons had had to take their mothers for a dance many times, so any awkwardness was excused. His next round was with Anneken in her bold dress and by then the ridiculous robes were growing heavy on his shoulders so he took a break.

The feast delicious; a traditional roast with vegetables and fluffy bread to soak up the gravy, followed by Hermione’s odd but somehow congruous dessert of fruity bread. Surprisingly in keeping with it being a fire festival, Hermione held a candle to the huge cake, and it ignited with blue flame with a whuff. The guests at the head table applauded and her actions were copied on the other tables to great applause. Once the flames died down, a gooey, rich cake with a crisp caramelised shell was served and eaten with cream.

The evening drew to a close and Gellert took his spot before the still burning Yule log. The departing guests, starting with the Delacours, formed a line. Monsieur delacour bowed and thanked him for a warm hearth. Gellert plunged his hand into the roaring fire before he could chicken out, snapped off a burning branch and handed it to the French wizard.

The branch extinguished as soon as it left his hand and the Delacours left, carrying the half-burned branch down the hall with them. He flexed his unharmed hand nervously, wondering if the enchantments on the robe had ever failed before as he reached in and broke off another burning branch for Anneken and her family.

It took over an hour to see everyone off, and the last branch was handed to the Dolohovs. The elves shut the massive front doors with a bang and Gellert pulled off the mask with a relieved gasp. An elf helped him dispense of the outer layers of the costume, popping off to hang it back on display in the robe hall. Hermione hugged him, finally able to do so properly.

‘You did amazingly.’ She told him sincerely. He grinned, her praise more genuine than every adult that had just left.

‘Not as well as you’ll do someday.’ He offered. ‘This has been the best Yule ever.’


	14. Responsibility

Wizards, it seemed, celebrated Yule on the actual day of the winter solstice, so she could celebrate Yule with them, then Christmas with her family. They also lumped the new year in with Yule, or perhaps more accurately they didn’t celebrate New Year as they did use the Roman Calendar, so the actual day of the event was the same.

She spent New Years with her family at a friend’s party. They all snuck into their bathrooms to find makeup, then when the party started, retreated to Penny’s room to try it out. Hermione unfortunately held no lead here, but some well placed words about ‘less is more.’ Kept her position as the grown up, even if her application of blush was perhaps a little heavy and her right eye kept watering where she’d poked it with the mascara wand.

She welcomed in the new year surrounded by muggle friends and feeling a little like she was pretending to be cleopatra with her black, bold eyeliner, delicate blue eyeshadow and bold red lips. She suspected the effect wasn’t quite as professional as she felt, considering most of the other girls looked like Picassos.

So, it was on the first of January that she woke up to a distinctly different atmosphere in Castle Grindelwald. The jangle of harness was loud even from her lofty window and when she peered out she could see a huddle of witches and wizards talking. She reckoned she could see the red hair of Herr Tunninger, and perhaps the blonde of his wife, but mostly they all wore dark, practical cloaks with hoods drawn up against the cold.

She hurried down, finding the entry hall door open, and peered around it. She could see closer now that the mounts were also clothed in strange outfits, like medieval battle cloths, but in plain dark colours. The fabric practically hummed with protective enchantments, as did the matching cloaks the witches and wizards wore.

Lady Grindelwald stood in the centre of the group, a deep grey-blue cloak cinched around her waist by a belt with both her wand and a long, wicked knife hanging off it. Herr Tunninger stood nearby in brown and he too was armed with a wand and knife. The adults she was familiar with spoke in low, urgent tones with a slight, mousy man who wore a khaki robe, embroidered with an black eagle perched on a black cross.

‘Hermione?’ Called Frau Grindelwald. Hermione jumped, then sheepishly stepped out into plain view. She was mortified to have been caught eaves dropping, but at least the circle of adults didn’t seem to angry. Instead their faces were tight with concern, although not directed at her. She felt a thrum of fear deep in her belly.

‘We have been called away. I expect we will be gone for several days.’ She was informed smartly. There was no more explanation than that as the adults turned away and swung up onto their mounts. Hermione was buffeted by gusts of wind as three winged mounts took off and the others escorted the man with the embroidered clothing out of the gates.

Silence reigned again.

She turned and headed upstairs to find Gellert. He was awake, watching through the window as the speck that was his mother on her Granian faded into the distance, disappearing towards the portal.

‘She said she’d be gone for several days.’ Hermione told him. He nodded, seeming unsurprised. ‘What is going on, Gellert?’ She asked, sitting carefully on the edge of his bed. The young wizard finally looked away from the window.

‘With power comes responsibility.’ He answered cryptically.

‘What responsibility?’ She demanded, failing in her attempt to moderate her voice.

‘Much of Europe hasn’t banned dark magic, unlike many other countries. It is why the old ways are still so alive here, but there is an understanding that there are boundaries that still should not be crossed. When someone starts to cause problems, the old families must step in to eliminate the issue.’

‘So it’s like a self regulation?’ Hermione asked, already pondering how such an arrangement could be fair.

‘Yes, raising the dead, murder or torture of wixen or muggles. Violations of the statute of secrecy. Those are lines that should not be crossed, perhaps with the exception of Samhain because that is voluntary for the dead. Usually the fear of the families keeps people from crossing lines, but occasionally someone does and they must be stopped.’

‘Who decides who needs to be stopped?’

‘The chancellor.’

‘Chancellor?’

‘The leader of the magical government.’ Gellert answered. He knotted his fingers together. ‘Warnings are given, then the chancellor may call for assistance from the old families. Sometimes, there is a majority agreement from the old families that a chancellor had become corrupted.’

Hermione pondered this for a moment.

‘Is it dangerous?’ She asked

‘Mother and the coven are strong, but anyone can be unlucky.’ He replied, his shoulders slightly tense. His rarely showed much affection for his mother, but now his fingers were tensed around his wand.

‘She is strong, besides, they had some pretty good kit.’ Hermione agreed, remembering the thick enchantments on the clothing worn by both mounts and wixen. ‘You’ll be doing that someday, right?’

She could imagine him, he would wear black and Kelpie would be fearsome. They would charge into battle in a shower of brightly coloured magic.

‘You too - you’ll be with me.’ Gellert added. A second figure joined the imaginary Gellert. She was tall, finally proportionate to her Longma. Long, wavy hair spilled down her stormy robe, her own wand flashed with light in synchronisation with the wizard beside her. They were invincible, protecting the rest of civilisation from evil wizards (who looked significantly like her PE teacher...).

She glanced out of the window. The riders had disappeared by now, carried away by the speed of wings and magical hooves. In the time it took them to return, Hermione decided it was her job to distract Gellert. So she pulled the book his mother had bought him for Yule off the shelf and pestered him to help her create space for her Longma to stretch his wings in his stall.

The extension charm was rather basic, although Gellert assured her there was a version that was significantly more tricky that couldn’t be detected. Once the stall was the size of a large football field - or quidditch pitch (Gellert vowed to teach her the game), they consulted a book to find that Longma were usually found on mountains. So Hermione enlarged pebbles into boulders whilst Gellert created a ledge out of the walls. Then Hermione added a river and waterfall instead of the trough. They foraged around the gardens for several hours after lunch to find plants - grasses, moss and lichen, then brewed them into the potion from the day of the snowball fight. By night fall, the stall was a lush mountainside.

The next day Hermione finally acquiesced to learn quidditch. So she learned all about the balls, two black bludgers that Gellert promised to keep within their straining leather confines, a tiny gold snitch and a crimson quaffle. That was the ball they used, wizzing around on their brooms about a meter off the ground and trying to pass it between them. Hermione’s coordination was so bad that she was bowled off her broom twice and dropped it almost without fail. The one time she did catch the ball and manage to stay on her broom, she crashed into the tower and spent the next hour being patched up by Gellert whilst the elves tutted and passed them cookies.

Having decided she clearly didn’t have the makings of a chaser, the next day was spent with the tiny gold ball. It moved unbelievably fast, remaining invisible but for the shortest glimpses. The Grindelwalds had a quidditch pitch - three stone hoops, rising out of the forest just beyond the castle walls and in a spot where the unsightly feature wouldn’t be as visible. Even still, the hoops were mossy green and ivy wound thickly up the posts. Until Gellert had pointed them out, she hadn’t even realised they were there against the irregularity of the forest background. The enchantments were incredibly clever, keeping the game concealed from muggles yet allowing wixen to spectate. It also kept the balls in a bubble of space, not allowing them to escape or hide among the trees. There was also, Gellert assured her, a cushioning charm for if she did fall, just below the top branches of the trees.

They spent the afternoon constantly renewing warming charms as they hunted the little tiny ball. Gellert assured her that this was common and some professional games lasted up to three days. She found the whole thing slightly boring, but persisted just to keep the wizard distracted.

Fortunately they finally caught it after lunch, then came the bludgers. Gellert handed her something that looked like a cross between a cricket and rounders bat and conjured a ball of similar size to the bludgers. Standing on the front lawn, he tossed it as her and she swung her bat like a sword. It connected with the ball with a thud and a cry of effort, sending the ball soaring over the nearest hedge. Gellert nodded appreciatively. They spent an hour tossing ‘bludgers’ at each other, then took to the air to perform the same exercise.

It was, she decided as she collapsed to the chair of their rooms, exhausting yet great for relieving stress. Flighty popped in with warm cocoa and the paper which Gellert had begun requesting since his mother had left. She let him read it whilst she read up weather spells so that she could make rain to water the plants in Katana’s stall. A sudden intake of breath interrupted her reading and she glanced up to see Gellert reading intently. She walked behind his chair to peer over his shoulder.

The picture that took up the page was mostly dark but for a man. He was pale, wearing a dark muggle suit that blended into the grainy background. He walked away from the photographer, then, seemingly noticing them, lashed around, his black braid spinning. His angular chin and jutting cheekbones made his face look long and narrow, the effect made worse by the thin line of black hair that curled around his jaw. He arm swung up and over his head, fast as a snake, and a flash of light filled the image. The loop played again and again.

“Lucan slips from Grindelwald Coven’s Grasp.” The headline declared. The article below was sensational, describing a duel of epic proportions where Livius Lucan and his necromantic wife sent an army of skeletons at the coven as a diversion whilst they escaped. Lady Grindelwald herself had brought down Lucan’s wife, but the dark wizard had somehow broken the anti-apparition jinx and fled.

From the sounds of it, nobody from the coven had been injured, aside from magical exhaustion for whomever had cast the anti-apparition.

Even as they sat, she heard faint voices from outside. She hurried to the window and peered down to see a witch light glowing as a huddle of figures dismounted. The massive doors opened, casting light across the group and elves appeared to take the mounts into the stables.

Gellert stepped up beside her and together they breathed a sigh of relief.


	15. Others

The first family arrived within hours of the newspaper article being published. A witch with three children, all younger than Durmstrang age. Gellert helped his mother open the warrens that evening and an army of elves bustled through, lifting stasis charms and preparing rooms. It would be his responsibility to situate everyone as they arrived.

Herr Tunninger’s wife pulled out a thick book, verifying everyone’s identities as they arrived and assigning them tunnel and room numbers. At first it was just Gellert guiding people through the damp grotto entrance and down into the deep honeycomb of tunnels that burrowed beneath the castle. As other coven families arrived, their children joined him, relieving the pressure of the number of arrivals now flocking to the gates.

Every time he emerged from the warrens, something had changed. Those that had arrived first were setting up the massive fire pit and dining tables where the lower garden had once been. The walled garden had become a paddock for livestock, the water garden a temporary corral for mounts. Light sparked across the sky as the wards were reinforced by the coven, lighting the night like fireworks.

Fear thickened the air, tinged by excitement as the humdrum of daily life was interrupted by the call to the castle. It had been almost six years since the general citizens of wizarding Germany had been called to the castle for protection. He knew that in France, the Delacour family would be doing the same in their chateaux, the Dolohovs in Russia would have opened their cave-like mountain home and the less fortunate would be fleeing to hide behind ancient, powerful wards. Pride lightened his steps, allowing him to keep making trip up and down the many flights of stairs. It was the responsibility of his family to protect the general public, he was the heir to the family that held the mightiest castle in the country and someday he would be the one sending out the call.

He waived to Berg as he led a family down to the shopping district, where the shop keepers would be housed. Frau Klemme bustled behind her, an elf laden with bags following behind. The merchant accommodations has two rooms so that the front one could be used to store and trade even when they were away from their usual premises.

There was a khaki uniformed ministry official with Frau Tunninger when he came back up to the surface, bowed over the book and taking down names of those who were still missing.

He was sent up to the castle for bed, the clock in the entrance hall telling him that it was the small hours of the morning. The castle was slightly quieter than the warrens, but not by much. Khaki clad officials hurried from the floo room to the south tower and back. Coven members in their expensive robes were dotted like dark jewels among them. He turned left at the top of the stairs, into the children’s wing, which was equally as busy. The bottom floor was full of adults in plain everyday robes carrying towering piles of books and parchment, elves darted around trailed by floating desks, chairs and blackboards as the classrooms were readied to accommodate the extra students. The next floor up was even busier, elves darting around readying the children’s dining room and sitting rooms. The top floor echoed with young voices, the occasionally scolding of a nanny elf pitched higher. He climbed up into his tower, paused at his room, then carried on climbing up.

Hermione’s room was at the highest point of the tower, with the exception of the observatory in the pointed turret and it provided the best view over the gardens. It was empty, Hermione’s clothes for the next day lying out on the bed. Her belongings were neatly arranged around the room, despite her only being in here for a couple of moments each day. He crossed to the window and looked down.

The dark lawns glowed with trails of torches, lighting the walls where dark figures patrolled. If he pressed his face against the glass he could just see the gates, brightly lit by the fires that glowed in the metal dragons’ eyes. A snake of torch bearing figures wound through the gardens and towards the grottos; here, the large central fire roared in the pit. Around it, seated at huge long tables were scores of witches and wizards. They moved in a constant stream between the tables and the grotto and milled around with a roar of voices. He knew that by morning, over a thousand people would be contained within the castle and the warrens beneath.

They would remain until the threat of the dark wizard was gone, as it had been for centuries and Gellert couldn’t see that changing any time soon... although, he’d heard that the custom had fallen in Britain. Britain had always been a little odd that way.

The next morning he had Beastie rouse him early and made sure to meet Hermione in her room to explain the situation to her. It was becoming a little game where he tried to spot exactly when she arrived. Her arrival was irregular, varying between long before he awoke to just in time to rush to their lessons. He took the star chart for that evening’s astronomy classes and worked on predicting when each star would rise. The trickiest part of astronomy was that he wrote his notes in the dark, so deciphering them later could be challenging.

She arrived the moment he looked away. One minute the bed was empty, clothes laid out neatly by her elf. The next moment she was sitting up, dressed perfectly, hair smooth and ready for the day. She bounced up with more energy than anyone had the right to have in the morning.

She greeted him cheerfully and danced over to the window, throwing it open to let in a blast of blisteringly cold air. He shivered, withdrawing into his warm cloak even as she leant out without hers.

Her breath caught.

‘Gellert, why are all these people here?’ She asked, a tremor in her voice. He took a breath and explained to her how it was custom that the powerful Grindelwald family shelter those that couldn’t provide their own ancestral wards and how the coven would use this as their command centre until the dark wizard Livius Lucan was caught. She nodded solemnly, smoothing her skirts. It was a habit she’d picked up recently that wouldn’t have worked back when she wore those silly short skirts.

‘What is my duty?’ She asked.

‘For now, you need to make sure you prove your right to the Grindelwald name in classes.’ He said grimly. He had expected far longer before she was required to attend lessons with their peers to being her up to the standards required of a Grindelwald. As it was, everyone would be scrutinising her every action, every spell, every assignment to find her weaknesses and she’d had less than four months to prepare. If she failed to surpass expectations in any subject, it would reflect poorly on her and his mother for choosing to sponsor her, something which absolutely could not happen.

Hermione seemed to understand the gravity of the situation without explanation, which boded well for the day.

‘I was also hoping you might accompany me tonight. I have to do the rounds of the warrens to check on everyone and settle any concerns.’

The young witch frowned, ‘Aren’t we a bit... young for that kind of job?’ She asked.

‘My mother is busy, so I have to do it. Age doesn’t really come into it.’ He replied firmly. Hermione’s mouth snapped shut and she nodded calmly. He would be willing to bet his wand that she still disapproved but had decided to pick her battles. It was an annoying tactic that she’d probably picked up from Anneken because he was perfectly aware that he now owed her not kicking up a fuss about something she did that he disapproved of.

He could hardly tell her to kick up a fuss either. He really shouldn’t have supported her friendship with the older witch this strongly.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Hermione was sent into the 10 year old’s class within half an hour of lessons starting because she was already so comfortable channeling magic without her wand that the basic guided meditation the tutor was walking the younger children through was well below her. He took great amusement when the Tunninger tutor asked her kindly to produce a small flame. To his great surprise and the envy of every student in the room, she spread her fingers and immediately flames licked out, whispering into a strong, single tongue at the tip of each finger. Berg applauded her merrily and the surprised tutor scrambled for feedback, looking a little put out at her easy accomplishment of magic that most adults struggled with.

Gellert had initially been jealous of how easily Hermione had taken to witchcraft. She had struggled initially, so much in fact that he had been concerned. Then, one day, the tutor had had them meditate together and it was like their magic was two parts of a whole. Hers had jumped through their joined hands and she had made a soft noise of realisation. From then on, she had forged a solid pathway that was more than worthy of a Grindelwald. Once she’d figured out how to channel her magic into the world, she’d come on in leaps and bounds. Her ability to direct her magic was awe inspiring and her sheer power was incredible.

So, her elemental, raw magic rivalled Gellert’s, with an allowance made for age difference of course, but her conjuration lagged behind as she tried to get the hang of holding multiple factors in her mind at once.

Unfortunately, the Tunninger tutor wasn’t following his mother’s curriculum and followed the more traditional progression of transfiguration before conjuration. He set Hermione to turn a matchstick into a needle using the incantation.

If viciousness and focus alone were all it took to transfigure something, Gellert didn’t doubt Hermione would have the pointiest needle in Germany. However, one also needed to know how to weave magic to facilitate the change. For most witches and wizards, the incantation and wand combination would perform the actual weaving and channelling of the magic, so focus and viciousness would be sufficient, but, having been educated according to Lady Grindelwald’s rules, Hermione didn’t even think to reach for her wand. She just sat at the desk, looking confused slightly upset.

Several times the tutor peered at Hermione’s progress with a smugness and offered her nothing more than condescending comments. Gellert hated the man by the time he granted them a fifteen minute break. Hermione looked to be almost in frustrated tears, but she was stifling them bravely.

He dragged his chair over to her desk as the other children got up and made their way to the bathrooms.

‘Hey.’ He greeted softly, offering her the rose he’d transfigured from a quill. She smiled faintly conjured a vase to put the flower in with a wave of her hand.

‘I don’t get it, Gellert. I don’t get how to start the magic.’ She said angrily, flicking the match. It skittered along the desk and dropped to the floor noiselessly.

‘He expected you to use your wand and the incantation.’ He explained and her eyebrows drew together.

‘He didn’t say that.’

‘Well no, he assumed you would know that... most people don’t use wandless magic.’ He explained, her eyebrows drew even closer.

‘But wands are so limited.’ She quoted Lady Grindelwald.

‘Yes, but they are easier. Most people learn wizardry, then try to replicate that with wordless, then try to replicate that again for wandless. We learn completely differently from the start, we channel our own magic to perform our will, then it becomes unnecessary to learn countless different spells.’ Hermione was nodding, but she still looked confused.

‘Why doesn’t everyone learn like us?’ She asked. Gellert smiled and held out his hands.

‘Because you must learn by feel. You cannot learn from a book, and you can’t have your mind cluttered by incantations and how wands cast magic.’ Her hands touched his lightly, sinking familiarly into each other’s magic. He could feel her watching him as he first levitated the match back onto the desk - well within her ability already - then, he took her step by step through the process of transfiguration. He demonstrated the way to mentally construct the required changes, melding and morphing the original object into the new one, before sending a spark of magic racing along his mental directions, acting out his will. Before them, the match turned silver, lengthened and narrowed and became pointy at one end.

They broke apart and Hermione inspected the needle closely.

‘Why wouldn’t I just conjure a needle?’ She asked, waving her hand across the table. An identical needle shimmered into being beside the one Gellert had made.

‘Transfiguration takes less magic - forget needles, imagine conjuring a...’ He paused, wracking his brain for an example that she’d understand at her current level. ‘Imagine conjuring a bed.’ He decided. Hermione nodded. ‘Think how much magic it would make just to make that much of something solid, not to mention all the different materials! It’s much easier to turn something that’s already similar into a bed, perhaps a chair. You’ve already got wood, fabric, padding... you just need to reshape it all.’

Hermione was nodding in understanding. She pulled another match out of the box and screwed her eyes shut. When she was ready, she waved her hand over the match and it morphed into a needle.

They shared a grin.

‘That’s not very hard.’ Hermione scoffed lightly. ‘Now I know what I’m meant to be doing.’

‘It’s not now, but there’s not much to think about, is there?’ Gellert laughed. ‘A bed would be much more difficult.’

Hermione pondered, then waved her hands in a complex wiggle. A miniature bed appeared in front of them. Gellert laughed uproariously and Hermione opened her eyes. She squinted at the bed, then laughed too. It was bed shaped with a rough, splintery wooden frame and a soft mattress. The blankets were made of wood too, as were the pillows, but somehow they were still spongy and soft.

‘See, much more difficult.’ He teased. Hermione banished the bed with a huff just as the others came back in. He shuffled back to his desk as continued transfiguring quills into flowers. He took great pleasure in the tutor’s surprise and barely hidden awe when Hermione flawlessly transfigured a needle in front of him.

After lunch they had to sit through a lecture on wizarding history and the formation of the ICW for everyone above the age of 7. Hermione took avid notes through the whole lecture using one of her clever self-inking quills. Gellert considered doing the same but nerves were starting to stir in his lower abdomen at the thought of what would come next.

He only had the vaguest ideas of what to expect when they visited the warrens that evening. He knew he had to welcome everyone and open their feast, then sit for an hour to give people a chance to bring their problems to him. It felt like a dementor was growing in his stomach as he considered what would really be his first appearance to the general public. What if he tripped, or made a stupid decision to fix a problem? He would become the laughing stock of the country. He would disgrace the Grindelwald name.

Hermione cocked her head at him from across the room and the dementor seemed to grow a little larger. What if Hermione saw him make a mistake and he embarrassed himself in front of her too. Or, what if she embarrassed herself and it got back to his mother and she had her patronage terminated? Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a good idea to have asked her join him.

The history lesson ended too soon and before he knew it they were both dressed in formal robes and Hermione was on his arm as they strolled down the path from the castle to the grotto and the warren entrance.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the mountain, a chill settling in the air and making him glad for his warm cloak. Hermione commented idly on the level of feed in the carnivorous mount’s pens and Gellert pulled out the ledger he would be making records in tonight to note it down. As he wrote, she vanished into the stables to check on their mounts.

They continued on when she re-emerged, arriving at the massive dining area. The long tables were arranged in a double horseshoe around the fire pit, a smaller table on a raised dais on the fourth side. Two chairs were at this table, one for Hermione and one for himself.

The large tables were filling quickly, a bell was ringing somewhere in the depths of the warrens, steadily growing louder as a grumpy looking elf barged through the steady flow of surfacing wixen. The bell was almost as large as the elf and everyone in the vicinity jumped out of the way as the creature swung it around with a worrying lack of spatial awareness.

The flow of people slowed and finally petered to a stop as the volume of conversation built at the three long tables. A bewildering mixture of people sat at the tables. There were children, mostly younger than Durmstrang age (the school was considered safe enough that they didn’t need to bring the students home.) and the occasional teen who was being home schooled. Packed around them in far greater numbers were adults, rich and poor, dressed in a dazzling variety of clothing, from muggle to wizarding, earthy tones to bright, glittering jewels, fur and rough wool, pointed hats to ridiculous, teetering muggle contraptions complete with stuffed birds and architectural feats of lace.

A hush fell as he stood, people peering up at him and standing to get a better look at the heir to the powerful but reclusive Grindelwald family. There were murmurs of surprise as Hermione was noticed but she seemed completely unaffected.

He cleared his throat, then greeted them, introducing himself. Hermione gave a gracious nod as she was introduced, thankfully knowing better than to curtesy to those who were their inferiors in the hierarchy of the wizarding world. Once introductions and welcomes were completed he invited anyone to approach with issues that needed resolving.

He clutched Hermione’s hand beneath the table and drew on their shared magic to send a huge fireball into the fire pit. The stacked branches ignited with a roar, blazing powerfully and sending a rush of warm air across the gathered people. Even from here he could see wizards and witches nodding in approval at the power of that spell, not that they knew it was actually the combined effort of the two of them.

The first wizard was approaching before he’d even dropped back into his seat.

‘Master Grindelwald.’ The man bowed in his direction, then bowed to Hermione, greeting her similarly. He seemed middle class, wearing plain but well looked after robes. His blond hair reflected orange in the firelight. Gellert flicked a hand for him to continue.

‘I’m an astronomer, see.’ The wizard patted his belt where a long, collapsible telescope hung. What followed was an hour of meaningless problems. The astronomer wanted to be assigned a duty roster spot in the late afternoon so that it didn’t disturb his star gazing hours. A dumpy witch with six children had only been assigned quarters with five child beds, a rough looking wizard complained that one of the Diomede’s mares in the paddock as snorted fire over his mount, injuring it and tall, willowy witch bedecked with glittering diamonds complained that someone had stolen some gallons from her purse. Considering she realised mid-sentence that she’d left her purse unattended at the table, Gellert didn’t think much of that one.

Hermione sat there patiently beside him for the whole evening, taking notes and creating action plans and recording everything in the large ledger. He was faint with hunger by the time the hour was finally up and they could return to the castle for their own meal.


	16. Time

Grindelwald castle had become a very different place over the past couple of months. It was like constantly being under the microscope - Gellert’s classmates were miles ahead of her in anything that wasn’t magic - duelling (her forms were non-existent), potions (she wasn’t tall enough to see over the brim of the cauldron yet), herbology (plants fought back in the magical world), history, astronomy and ancient runes (it was hard enough translating their German without having to worry about another language).

Yet, despite her age, she was expected to excel. Only Gellert’s potion could be better, only Gellert could be faster identifying poisonous flowers and her runic translations had to be perfect. She tried as hard as she could, reading all day in the muggle world and taking tutoring from Gellert in every spare minute in the magical world without making it obvious how far behind she was. Combined with the responsibility of their nightly courts with the citizens in the warren and maintaining her circle of muggle followers and she was seriously beginning to flag.

The weekend was a relief, she spent it with her Longma, who never judged her and never found her lacking. She could polish his scales and comb his silky fine spinal fringe without being pressured of having to pretend she knew more than she did. Gellert didn’t join her, perhaps sensing that she wanted to be alone. Kelpie kept tossing his head in his stall, confused that she was there and his owner wasn’t.

A movement at the massive stable door caught her eye and she turned to see a girl, about her age. She was slightly built with worn, threadbare clothes. Her dress was grey, the skirt too short and had muggle woollen socks held up by ribbon. She ducked back out when she saw Hermione looking.

Hermione left Longma, slowly making her way towards the door. She peered around the door and found the girl looking up at her with big, dark eyes.

‘Hello.’ Hermione said with a welcoming smile.

‘Hi.’ The girl whispered.

‘Who are you? I’m Hermione.’ She held out her hand tentatively. The girl looked at the extended appendage warily, but at least replied. No name was given, but Hermione didn’t plan to press. Instead, she invited the girl to join her in the stable and pet the beast she’d been admiring.

‘Look,’ Hermione said, picking up a handful of rehydrated beans. She held them out to the Longma on a flat palm and he snuffled them up quickly. The scales on his snout were so small and fine that they felt like velvet and his beard ran though her fingers like strands of silk. Beans were his favourite treat and he would do anything for them, she told the girl as she put some beans in her palm. Katana tossed his head a couple of times, sending the girl skittering back to a safe distance but eventually settled for long enough that she could feed him the beans. Whatever reservations the beast might have had were quickly lost after that and the girl seemed to enjoy it. Hermione showed her how to scratch the base of his antlers and wing joints. The Longma purred like a cat under their ministrations.

She left after an hour or so without ever giving a name but the happy smile on her face was enough to keep Hermione happy for the next hour as she finished grooming and did some light work on the weather charm on Katana’s stall. She had managed to get it to rain occasionally, but there was never the associated clouds, just a sudden downpour out of a sunny, blue sky.

Gellert came to fetch her for lunch, after which they went to the library.

Berg was almost as studious as she was and he could often be found in the library. Sometimes she felt he knew everything, but unfortunately he just hadn’t been born with the sheer magical power to perform to his knowledge level. Hermione had felt badly for him until she realised that he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t interested in being part of the coven or continuing the influential Tunninger line. He had mentioned his children and future marriage with a casualness that had shocked Hermione; she’d been surprised by the way Anneken had spoken of marriage - how she was freed of obligation and how her boyfriend had ‘negotiated terms’ with her father. But Anneken was seventeen and although young, it was the 1800’s. Hearing Berg talk about his parent’s disappointment that Lady Grindelwald had turned down an offer for Alice to marry Gellert had her struggling to hold her jaw shut. Gellert was ten, Alice thirteen, they were incredibly young.

Then something occurred to her like a stone had suddenly formed in her gut. Anneken had said Hermione had freed her from the obligation of becoming the next Lady Grindelwald... Hermione had assumed that once she was adopted as Gellert’s sister, the title would be hereditary, but what if she meant Lady Grindelwald as in marrying Gellert?

There were so many problems with that that she could scarcely begin to comprehend them.

Anneken had acted like it was a given and that Lady Grindelwald had already made the decision, that Hermione had no choice in the matter. Hermione wanted a choice in who she married, and she was only eight! She definitely wasn’t going to marry anyone until she was at least thirty and children... children were just icky. They pooed and cried all the time and they smelled funny. She definitely never wanted children, but both Berg and Gellert seemed to consider children a given.

Not to mention that she was from a completely different time! Gellert would be long dead by the time Hermione was even born in real life, or if he somehow was still alive, he would be over one hundred. He would be a wrinkly old grandpa.

She felt suddenly queasy as she leapt to her feet. She ignored the concerned words of both Berg and Gellert as she hurried from the room. She brushed her dress smooth as she clattered down the stairs. At the doorway out of the children’s wing she paused, realising she really had no idea where to find Lady Grindelwald. She’d always met with her in the Lady’s sitting room, but she was reasonably sure that with the current state of the castle, she wouldn’t find the Lady there. In fact, she wasn’t even sure that the Lady Grindelwald was even in the castle right then.

Hesitantly she called her elf who popped into the corridor after a moment. The elf wore a large pair of oven mitts over her long fingered hands and a wooden spoon was tucked into her belt. Hermione cringed at the memory of that spoon cracking her knuckles whenever she broke some obscure rule of etiquette.

‘Missy is wanting to see the Lady Grindelwald.’ Flighty repeated slowly.

Hermione nodded frantically. ‘Yes, its urgent.’

The elf was still sceptical but agreed to take Hermione to the head of the castle.

Lady Grindelwald was fortunately just returning from one of the raids the coven had been conducting. Hermione only had to wait for a moment before the woman swept into the study, the door slamming behind her an indication of just how displeased she was to have to deal with Hermione now.

For a moment Hermione was struck speechless by the older witch’s appearance. She looked like a vengeful Valkyrie in a grey battle dress with gleaming silver light armour strapped over her chest and upper arms. A wickedly sharp knife and sword gleamed at her side, her wand was holstered against her sleeve and a small black leather pouch hung from her other hip, nestled among folds of grey cloth. Her fierce expression completed the image and Hermione had to force herself not to shrink away.

‘I must wonder what you considered to be urgent enough for you to request my presence.’ Lady Grindelwald spat and if it was anything other than her future marriage at stake, Hermione would have given up already and fled.

‘I’m not from here.’ Hermione began, then realising that didn’t sum up the situation, she elaborated. ‘I mean, I’m not from this year.’

Lady Grindelwald paused, fixing Hermione with an intense stare. ‘I suspected as much.’ She said and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She had been worried the older witch wouldn’t believe her. ‘When, exactly, are you from? No, don’t tell me exactly. I don’t want to interfere with the time continuum.’

She had to think for a moment.

‘A century.’ She finally said, deciding that was vague enough to keep the Lady happy. It suddenly occurred to her that she was in an incredible position, she could change the course of history, she could prevent both world wars, save millions of lives. This was an opportunity she shouldn’t waste! Lady Grindelwald seemed to read something of what she was thinking in her expression.

‘Time is a tricky thing. What has happened must happen, but what will happen has already happened. Do you understand?’

Hermione looked at her blankly, wishing she did.

‘You exist now, so you have already existed in the future. Yet, you still exist in the future. You cannot change the past because events have already unfolded, even if they have yet to happen to us. You cannot change anything. For the sanity of everyone, I would suggest you don’t even consider it, or even tell anyone of the future.’

Hermione sat numbly.

‘So do I have to marry Gellert?’ She asked nervously.

‘Why would you think that?’ Now Lady Grindelwald sounded surprised and a wave of relief almost had the young witch’s shoulder’s sagging. ‘I suspected you might be from a different time, but I had hoped it would be a decade at the most. I believed that you would eventually marry Gellert but you would be an asset to the family either way. It will be beneficial for us to redevelop our roots in Britain anyway and having a Grindelwald marry into one of their ancient families would certainly do the trick...’ The older witch trailed off contemplatively. ‘In the mean time, I will speak to your tutor. You will be spending Tuesday evenings with me, learning Occlumency. This will paint a target on your back if it becomes public, so we must make sure it never does.’

Hermione didn’t ask what Occlumency was. She was too glad to be free of the obligation of having to marry Gellert and have kids. Even if Lady Grindelwald was still talking about marriage, at least she would have some choice in the matter.


	17. Ostara

Hermione was receiving special lessons from his mother, cramming her already full timetable to bursting. Gellert didn’t know whether to be pleased of jealous that his mother seemed to favour her so much. He’d always known his mother really wanted a daughter and that fact that he’d been born a male had been a disappointment to her. He had wished when he was younger that their family followed the newer, muggle tradition of having males inherit and women taking their husband’s name. It would have at least given him some value in her eyes.

As it was, his mother begrudgingly accepted him but now that Hermione was here - the daughter she’d never had - Gellert felt rather like he’d been pushed to the wayside.

To make matters worse, he now hardly got to see Hermione. Between lessons where she spent every spare moment catching up, evenings with his mother and Anneken and the large chunk committed to the court at the warrens, he really only got to see her for the short walk between the grotto and the castle.

The snow melted into slush, the wetness causing a slew of new problems in the warrens as the discovered exactly where the water carved it’s trails. Green speckled the branches of the trees, snowdrops, primroses and pink antflowers ventured up from the soil, creating spots of pastel among the fresh greens of early spring.

A Hippogriff broke loose and bred with a prize Abraxan, causing a dispute that took him days to resolve between two influential family heads. The apothecary reported missing ingredients and a unicorn had its horn shaved. People were beginning to get restless.

Livius Lucan remained uncaught.

News trickled in of casualties and deaths among those who had declined the invitation to shelter and even higher casualties among muggles. The ministry were struggling to persuade the muggles it was just another outbreak of the bubonic plague.

Ostara couldn’t come soon enough, although it came with a strange feeling. The majority of the public didn’t participate in Ostara as one of the more obscure festivals and now only the traditional old families really celebrated. However, as the entire coven was now living at Grindelwald Castle and they most certainly did celebrate the festival, it would be happening.

Gellert wouldn’t be taking a major role in this one, much to his relief. Alice however had come home from Durmstrang a week early to fulfil her position as Moon. It would be her first time and remembering his own nerves before Yule and his debut as the channel, he could only imagine how bad it must be to perform in front of everyone else.

True enough, she was almost as pale as her silver dress when Ostara dawned on 19th March. Hermione made a valiant effort to comfort her. The young witch looked like a spring spirit herself in a pale green and cream light dress, flowers and silver bells woven through her long, loose hair. Like everyone else today her feet were bare, and he noticed that her toe nails were somehow coloured pale blue. It looked very pretty.

He snapped his eyes back up to her face, fighting down a blush.

His own robe was a darker green and like all the other boys he wore a crown of budding branches and young leaves.

Berg plopped into the seat opposite and greeted him with a mischievous grin and Gellert spied a crimson bloom in his crown.

‘No way.’ Gellert drawled, awe at the other boy’s bravery clear in his tone.

‘Yes way! I’m going to do it. My mother didn’t say no.’ Berg bragged, fingering the flower.

‘Who?’ He demanded.

‘Neele Fleiss, that’s who!’ Mareike answered, dropping in next to him in a swirl of green and a cloud of flowery smells. She was fingering her own crimson flower, tucked behind her ear.

‘Not you too!’ He groaned.

‘Yes. Dominick Wach,’ she preened. Gellert let his head fall into his hands. ‘You know, we’re off to school next year. It’s important to start staking your claims early, otherwise some new-blood might come along and claim them!’

‘What about you? Aren’t you going to give something to Hermione?’ Inquired Berg. Gellert winced.

‘I don’t know if she’d be receptive.’ He muttered. He hadn’t missed Hermione bolting from the room, even if it had taken him a moment to realise it was marriage that had made her so nervous. He doubted she would be receptive so such a public gesture, then again, it wasn’t a commitment, girls liked to be thought of on Ostara.

‘Well, its not like you have to give her a rose! Just give her an Amaryllis or something.’ Mareike waved her hand dismissively, as though it should be obvious.

‘An Ama-what?’ Gellert was grateful that Berg had asked the question.

‘An Amaryllis... its a red flower, but without the commitment of a rose.’ The witch explained, rolling her eyes.

‘A tulip is okay though, right?’ Berg asked, suddenly seeming uncertain.

‘Of course, you wouldn’t give a rose to someone you don’t know anyway, but that seems like more of a commitment than Hermione would be comfortable with. She’d very progressive for a Grindelwald. There’s no commitment of intent behind an Amaryllis.’ Mareike had a tulip, he noticed. He shared a mystified look with Berg, both wizards understanding that this was some mysterious interpretation that only women could make.

Never-the-less, Gellert did take her advice and hurried to retrieve a book on botany from the library.

With a conjured flower tucked into his crown, he managed to reach the breakfast room before Hermione left with Alice. Both girls smiled welcomingly as him and Alice’s eyes sparkled when she caught sight of the flower in his crown. The witch looked meaningfully at Hermione and raised her eyebrows. Gellert nodded confirmation, resigning himself to this same reaction all day. Thank Merlin Petrovna was in her family castle in Russia or he’d never hear the end of it.

They headed down to the ritual gardens. It was hardly the normal setting for Ostara, but it wasn’t normal times either. Large crowds had already gathered, the ritual table had been scrubbed clean by both elves and hands to remove the taint of the blood sacrifice on Samhain. A massive cauldron had been set up and the ingredients lay on a table behind the potion. His mother waited behind the altar.

She was a beautiful witch, there was no denying it. She wore a deep, emerald robe that looked like it was made of leaves and her hair cascaded in a silvery wave over her shoulder, dotted with flowers. Alice made her way over to the older witch, leaving Hermione alone with him for a moment. He hesitated, pulling her to a stop with him.

‘Er... Hermione?’ He berated himself for sounding so uncertain, but his voice seemed disinclined to listen to his brain. ‘I don’t know if you know, but its tradition on Ostara, to spend it with someone.’ The witch was looking at him now, giving him her full, undivided attention. He swallowed nervously, hoping that if this went badly they would be able to salvage some friendship at least. He hoped she didn’t miss-interpret it.

‘Anneken explained, about the red flower.’ Her eyes flitted to the flower in his crown. He swallowed again.

‘Well, I.. er... that is...’ He plucked the flower from his crown and shoved it in her direction. She eyed it as though it was liable to sprout thorns and poison her. ‘It’s er... not a rose, or a tulip, so no commitment beyond spending the day together...’

He stumbled through something that he really didn’t remember, because next moment the witch threw her arms around him and hugged him, narrowly avoiding crushing the delicate flower.

‘Oh Gellert, I’d love to!’ She exclaimed, pulling away and letting him tuck the Amyrillis behind her ear. She smiled prettily at him, then her brows drew together. A moment later a flower appeared in her hands. He was fairly certain it wasn’t a real flower because he’d never seen one anything like it. As seemed common with her magic, blue had snuck in, spreading out like ink from glittering silver stamens to five pointed crimson petals. She eyed it for a moment contemplatively.

‘There’s nothing against blue, right?’ The witch confirmed. Gellert smiled, reassuring her that there wasn’t. Blue wasn’t traditional, but hardly anyone would blame an 8 year old for accidentally getting some blue on her flower. It was almost their family colours anyway, so most people would probably think it was intentional.

Berg gave him a thumbs up from across the circle. He had a red flower tucked into the breast pocket of his robes and he noticed Neele grinning wildly from a couple of spots down. Mareike was absent, but so was Dominick so that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

His mother stepped up and welcomed everyone, breaking tradition slightly to reiterate the proceedings to those who’d never done it before. Gellert had already told everyone several nights before to give them time to prepare their crowns but it wouldn’t do to have anyone mess it up mid-way.

Ostara was a far simpler ritual than any of the others. Hermione lined up with six other girls behind the altar, clutching an ingredient each. Hermione held bleeding heart, which he thought was a bit of a risk as she was the least experienced at potions or herbology of all the girls in the line, but his mother must have judged her ready.

For each girl, a huddle of witches formed, both traditionalists and progressives, a blend of ages and powers. As Alice called forwards each ingredient, the girl holding it walked around the circle to the chants of one of the huddles of witches. From each huddle would step forwards a maiden, a mother and a crone, each touching the ingredient to imbue their power. Then they would continue chanting until the girl had completed her walk of the circle, kneeling before the cauldron.

Alice called for hippogriff milk, and an older girl with a dark complexion walked the circle, a willowy blonde followed with cinnamon, the aroma drifting in waves and spreading far further than was natural. Something primal seemed to awaken in him as he caught it’s scent. She called for a golden apple, and Gellert’s mouth dampened with hunger. Unicorn hair came next, drifting in billows from the clump in the hand of the girl. He felt as light as the hair, as though all his concerns had floated away. Hermione was next, the crimson flower in her hair bringing out the rosiness of her cheeks. His heart pounded as the bleeding heart was carried past and he followed it’s path as Hermione knelt in front of the cauldron. Lavender steam billowed from the cauldron, changing to deep red as the bleeding heart flower was added. Rose thorns and finally, Powdered moonstone.

Every witch joined together in their chant, the words somehow sounding smooth despite the different rhythm and words of each huddle. Alice stepped back and withdrew a single flower from his mother’s crown, then did the same for each of the seven girls at the foot of the cauldron. She dropped them into the potion and the smoke paled to a light, pearly pink.

Still chanting, the maidens, mothers and crones from every huddle turned to the wizards and each wizard withdrew a leaf from his crown, placing it in their hands. The witches returned to their huddles and every witch did the same with a flower from their crown, then Alice walked the circle, taking the leaves and flowers and adding them to the cauldron. With each armful, the smoke thickened, becoming denser, stronger and more pungent. It settled over the ground in a thick fog of rose-quartz.

He could barely see the others now, just the cauldron, still billowing smoke. It was like he was alone in the world, him, his thundering heart and the warm, heavy scent of cinnamon. Then he heard something else, a soft fluttering. Before his eyes, the flower that Hermione had given him transformed into a butterfly, fluttering for a moment in front of him. Then it fluttered off, leading the way through the mist. He followed it, feeling somewhat light and whimsical.

He saw her, a slash of light through the mist. She was being led by her own butterfly, following it dutifully in his direction. She smiled when she saw him, the two butterflies dancing together.

‘What do we do now?’ She asked. Her voice sounded lighter, smoother. When he replied, his had the same effect. He rather like it, a strange, warm tone that was different to his usual aristocratic drawl.

‘What ever we want. We could go for a walk?’ He offered her his arm and she took it. Her skin was incredibly soft against his, their feet brushing through cool dew on invisible grass. They didn’t meet anyone, in fact it was like they were the only ones here.

‘What happens to the people without flowers?’ She asked curiously, interrupting the idle conversation about types of mist.

‘A kind of hallucination. It’s meant to reveal what or who is most dear to you. I went for a ride on Kelpie last year.’

‘What do you think Crone Tunninger does?’ Hermione asked with a giggle. Gellert’s mouth dropped open in shock, then scrunched in disgust. Crone Tunninger was well over a century old and had outlived her children and grand children. It seemed age had dulled her propriety as she was wont to make explicit comments on anyone who hesitated near her for long enough. Many young man had been graphically propositioned by her at some point.

‘A young whippersnapper.’ Gellert finally replied.

‘Or several...’ Both youth’s faces screwed up even more at this image and Gellert broke into a coughing fit.

A bench materialised in front of them, strangely dark against the pale mist. Hermione gave a sigh that suggested she had strongly wanted to sit for a while and lowered herself onto the seat. Gellert sat next to her and the mist cleared to give them a view. The view was not of anywhere he knew. Grassy hills rolled smoothly away from them, dotted by small coppices of bright hazel trees. Fluffy-cloud-sheep wandered in one paddock, hairy brown cattle in the one just further. The sky was a dark silver, lances of sunlight piercing the clouds to give everything a golden glow.

He suspected it was England, perhaps Hermione’s home.

They sat in contemplative silence.

‘Gellert, I spoke to your mother a couple of weeks ago.’ She began, tension ran through his body.

‘Yes.’

‘We spoke... I can’t marry you.’ She was very determinedly not looking at him and a sheet of her brown hair hid her face.

‘Why not? We are both powerful, intelligent. It would be a perfect match.’ He answered, desperately keeping a reasonable tone.

‘There’s... other stuff happening. Your mother agreed with me.’

Cold trickled through him. Eight was young, very young to be betrothed, particularly among the common folk that Hermione was certainly born from. Was it possible that he was too late, that her parents had already made an agreement with someone else?

‘You’re already betrothed.’ He stated flatly. Hermione inflated with indignation.

‘I am not! I’m eight, I’m far too young to even be thinking about that kind of thing!’ She was glaring at him now, but that couldn’t damped the relief that flooded through him. If there was no formal agreement, there was still a chance. He’d initially just found her a good match, but the longer he’d known her, the more he’d realised she wasn’t just a good match. She was smart, powerful, ambitious, an asset to the family but she was also an incredible friend, lively, interesting and fun. It wouldn’t just be a match, it would be a true partnership. His magic sang when it was near her, it melded with hers flawlessly and gained a life of its own. He couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else.

‘If you’re not betrothed already, what is the problem?’ He could scarcely believe she din’t feel the same way. The realisation was cold and crushing, the reality that he’d given away his heart to have it thrown back so quickly.

Hermione must have heard some of that in his tone, ‘no, no, its nothing like that. I’m not allowed to tell you, I can’t. If it were different I wouldn’t say no, I’d see if things worked between us, but it can’t work.’ She rambled somewhat but he didn’t really mind. He was too busy trying to figure out what could possibly be stopping them marrying if she was interested and there was nobody else.

‘Can we keep it open?’ He finally asked.

‘It can’t happen.’ She repeated.

‘It might. Stranger things have happened. I’d like to not disqualify anything just because there’s not a ready made solution.’ He could see the moment that Hermione relented and agreed.

He’d never expected to have to persuade a witch to marry him. It sounded silly and arrogant in retrospect but he’d always expected his name to do all the hard work for him. He found that he rather relished the challenge of having to prove himself to her, to make her realise that whatever obstacle she was seeing, he was worth overcoming it.


	18. Father

Things were awkward between them after Ostara. At least, Hermione felt they were. Gellert seemed to alternate between determinedly aloof and overly gallant. He’d escort her to classes and meals, help her in lessons and come with her to groom Katana. Then some days he wouldn’t even talk to her, glaring at her lowly beneath his brows and refusing to talk to her during lunch. Unfortunately the others in their group seemed to take their cues from him, so she was forced to exercise her own powers as ‘hostess’ and gracefully sit with her own age group.

Neele was the girl that Berg had gifted his tulip to for Ostara. She was pale in appearance - white blonde hair, porcelain skin and silver-blue eyes. The first impression of her was that she would be frail, but she was wire strong and fast as a whip with a humour to match. She was the daughter of a new blood - the term used to refer to Muggleborns - who had managed to secure herself an invitation to the coven. An unrepentant dark witch, Neele’s mother specialised in the creation of new counter curses and blood magic.

Neele however had yet to grow into her power, her magic had yet to manifest despite the hours of meditations her mother put her through. She hadn’t ever had a tutor, nor was she quite used to the rigid upbringing of the old families that made up the majority of the rest of the coven’s children. It was a point of familiarity between them, as was Neele’s surprise that the rest of the children were already making their matches for marriage. Unfortunately, that was rather spoiled by the awe Neele held for Hermione’s magical abilities and all intelligent conversation was lost in favour of requests to perform spells.

Yannik was the only other coven child her age, and he was as drab as it was possible to be. His magic had certainly manifested and although he was as powerful as any other child in their group, he lacked any kind of inventiveness. He stuck rigidly to the lists of spells he’d been given by his incredibly strict tutor. Apparently they were specifically selected to exercise his magic in certain ways and were to be performed every day, in order, no exceptions, no additions. He guarded the list jealously, not willing to let slip something that he believed would make him stronger than everyone else. Hermione had spied on him in the library and discovered the exact list - five charms, a pinhead into a button and a stinging hex.She was about as impressed with his spells as he was with her unstructured and aimless practice. That is to say, not much.

Without Gellert’s constant support, her schedule began to feel more and more ridiculous. She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to sleep and she was beginning to wish for a couple of hours of blankness. She hadn’t read a book for pleasure for days, the second Redwall book had come out months ago and she still hadn’t even seen the cover, despite members of her shallow circle having already read it (disapproving her theory that most of them were, in fact, illiterate.)

She had considered staying up late one night to see if she could miss a day at Grindelwald Castle but she did have obligations to attend to that were bigger than her or Gellert’s childishness. Not to mention the lessons really were fascinating. Wizards had a long memory and could recall with great accuracy every event in their turbulent, bloody history. Clashes with muggles every couple of decades, dark wizards, magical creature rampages and meddling in the affairs and politics of muggles; there was plenty to learn in their history classes. The teacher was also very good - he had carefully preserved memories of important events, artefacts, talking paintings of historical figures... She spoke with Svard the Sorcerer, who had accompanied the vikings on their first raid of Lindisfarne and watched Ferdinand the Flighty’s memories of the french invasion of the UK.

Transfiguration remained difficult - she could focus on several factors at once, but still occasionally forgot details. Her decoration was often off, or if she focused too heavily on that, the shape or materials were wrong. It was something everyone assured her would come with age and experience, but she still found it frustrating. Charms was tricky, particularly when used on living things, but her charms on inanimate objects were usually excellent.

Potions was fascinating but that was the time slot Lady Grindelwald had chosen to coach Hermione in Occlumency. Her hours with the tall, imposing witch were the hardest yet most fulfilling of the whole week. She was demanding and held expectations higher than anyone else but she was also fascinating. The witch was younger than her silvery hair suggested, but aged by life. She was usually dressed in her battle robes, which Hermione couldn’t help but admire, with their intricate spell weave and striking look. The elder witch once even let Hermione admire the fabric, smoothing it between her fingers and examining the protective enchantments.

Hermione had a rough grasp on Occlumency, understanding the basic principals, but was too young to really form the impenetrable barrier that would be necessary to withstand a direct assault. Instead, the Lady was teaching her to redirect the attention with an assault of her own. This kind of tactic was unexpected and almost certain to throw off most legilimens, not to mention it might tell her something useful about the attacker in the meantime. If she gained entry, she then just had to rifle through thoughts so fast that most people would struggle to collect themselves to force her out.

She practiced on a shade - “an animated construct under the direct control of the caster,” according to Beings and Non-Beings by Mir Age. This one was enchanted with enough accuracy to have a false, false memories projected behind illusionary walls and could channel magic cast by the Lady Grindelwald. It was terribly advance magic and there was books dedicated to creating even the simplest shade, all of them referencing other techniques well beyond her ability. She understood enough to know it was sorcery, the most powerful and complex form of magic.

Either way, the shade could have carefully limited abilities, so Hermione was able to break through the barriers of it’s mind and begin flipping through the memories there, trying to move fast enough to be baffling to the attacker whilst Lady Grindelwald observed.

The memories were designed to be interesting, she was sure. One showed the witch riding a mighty silver dragon, another showed a complex lesson on ritual building that she could hardly tear herself away from. She managed to flick at appropriate speed through a series of rituals, visits to shops, hesitated at a Granian foal, passed through childhoos Gellert, propelled even faster thorough a gory battle scene and then saw something interesting. A man sat in a tall armchair by the fire, a little blond baby nestled in his arms. His features were unmistakable in the flickering firelight. Strong, bold jaws, prominent nose. Lady Grindelwald’s mother had softened the crow-like appearance in her son, bringing a fullness to the chin and forehead that the man in the chair didn’t have. Remembering what she was meant to be doing, she tore herself away from the memory and onto the next one, but evidently Lady Grindelwald had found her weakness. Even the knowledge that she was likely failing couldn’t turn her away from this memory. Lady Grindelwald, hair a cascade of golden blonde down her back, stood across the hall from the man. He was older, though not by much, and he held a dark look in his eyes that spelled evil to Hermione. They were shouting, screaming at lines being drawn and what was necessary before Lady Grindelwald, tears streaming down pristine, porcelain cheeks, blasted him through the massive castle doors.

The memory closed down and Hermione found herself blinking up at the woman who was her teacher and patron.

‘Curiosity is a powerful thing.’ Lady Grindelwald said. Her voice was impassive and Hermione desperately searched for whether she was in trouble for so blatantly failing at her task. ‘If you manage to succeed on your next attempt, I will tell you my husband’s story.’

Hermione jumped to attention, desperate to prove herself and win this reward. Gellert never spoke of his father, infact, nobody did. There were no paintings or belongings, the man might as well have never existed.

The next attempt was better. She was so determined to hear the story that nothing could distract her from her goal. She breached the shade’s mind faster than ever, plunging into the memories and flicking through them at blinking pace. She knew without a doubt that she had been successful when she found herself back in the drawing room, blinking fiercely to clear her spinning head of the multitude of images.

‘Well done. Next time, see if you can recreate that without the incentive. However... as promised.’ Hermione was gestured to the stool near the fire and a moment later a cup of cocoa was sent by the elves, a glass of dark liquid appearing at Lady Grindelwald’s left hand at the same time.

‘I met Frederich at Durmstrang, he was from a magical family, but not an old one. He was powerful, more than myself. As far as both our parents were concerned, and us too, it was the perfect match. He gained the Grindelwald name, we gained his power for our family. I should have known better from the start. He was too eager for the name and had next to no respect for the old ways. He was arrogant, viewed everything as below him, and considered even magic to be his servant. He never learned that magic is a force much stronger than those who wield it, he didn’t understand that magic could harm him or control him, he delved too deep without the proper precautions.’

‘Practicing dark magic is a tricky balance. One must practice it sparingly, each time you use it it had permanent effects. Sometimes it effects the appearance, other times the soul, and almost always your mind. It requires a strength of will, for it is undoubtedly powerful and addictive. Gellert’s father didn’t heed the warnings, he never understood that magic would harm him if he abused it. It drove him to madness, as it does many dark wizards and witches.’

Perhaps it was Hermione’s imagination but the room seemed darker, the fire casting deeper shadows. A chill seemed to creep down to her bones.

‘We argued and the castle sided with me, he was banished. I was unsurprised when months later the coven was called to hunt down a dark wizard who was using a modified elf bond to force wizards to do his bidding. It was a dark time, you never knew who he’d gotten to and I opened that castle to the people. They came, and we were here for six months before we finally managed to bring him down. Three hundred witches and wizards were trapped, unable to use their magic until their bond was linked to a new ‘master’. It took us months to find next of kin who we could bond them too.’

Hermione was horrified, but suddenly understood so many things. Lady Grindelwald was such a strong woman, Hermione didn’t think she could ever have lead the defence of the country against a dark wizard. For a moment, she tried to imagine Gellert in the place of that dark wizard, but the image was to contrary; Gellert was kind and generous with a deep respect for life and magic, an unshakable loyalty to his friends and the people his family ruled over and served. She couldn’t imagine anyone further from a dark wizard!


	19. Missing

The others had chosen him over Hermione, but he wasn’t blind to their looks and probing glances. Every day when he he ignored her, they would share these indecipherable, visual conversations and he couldn’t help but feel that everyone was laughing at him, as though his behaviour was unreasonable.

Perhaps he was being a little unreasonable, but it was hardly their place to judge him. He was the only one who knew the situation, with the exception of Hermione and his mother, who continued to keep their big secret.

He tried to continue as he had before he met Hermione, only he couldn’t really remember how he had managed before her. Classes were boring, after classes were empty and the morning was tedious. Homework was easy and uninspiring and the comments from the tutors disappeared from his work - it wasn’t as easy to come up with good points when he didn’t have stimulating conversation as he was working.

He dedicated himself to doing better, determined to prove to Hermione that she needed him as both a powerful wizard and her only connection to the wizarding world but she just responded in kind. He worked as hard as he could, and she worked harder. Her essays were longer and more detailed, her understanding better, her progress impossibly fast. He was hardly stupid, but he couldn’t understand how she had the sheer time to do that much research and practice each day, not with their already full schedules, not to mention her obsessive grooming of Katana - that animal practically glowed and Kelpie was beginning to get jealous and nippy.

He didn’t regret inviting her into the family, he knew his duty and he couldn’t help but be reluctantly impressed by her fervour but he resented her seemingly easy ability to trounce him. He almost feared that one day, his friends might follow her lead than his.

His mother called him in for his first meeting since the appearance of Livius Lucan. She looked strange in her battle dress; he’d never seen her in it. She seemed distracted, her eyes constantly flicking to an Iris’ Rainbow, glittering in it’s ornate crystal vial on the desk. She was silent as she tore herself away from the artefact for long enough to peruse a parchment that he assumed held remarks from his tutors.

‘You are doing well. Hermione’s competition seems to be beneficial.’ He hoped he imagined the tenderness with which she said her name, certain his own had never been said with anything less than a snap.

‘She would have been a valuable addition to our family name.’ He managed tersely, hoping that somehow his mother had construed that as polite.

‘Would have been?’ She demanded sharply, the Iris’ Rainbow finally forgotten as she fixed him with the full force of her stare.

‘Hermione says she is to marry a British wizard.’

‘She is.’ Then, for the first time her eyes softened and her voice changed from that of a general commanding her soldier to that which he imagined of a mother. ‘Gellert, you are young still. There will be other girls, I am certain of it.’

Traitorous burning began along his bottom eyelids and he glared at the ceiling. Grindelwalds did not cry.

‘I don’t understand. She is perfect.’

‘She is, but there are other things at play. Things greater than us. Hermione is a blessing to this family, perhaps from magic itself. She is not able to marry you, the magic which brings her here will prevent it.’

‘The magic that brings her here?’ He said stupidly, then almost kicked himself. His mother hated stupidness and this uncharacteristic softness would be gone in an instant.

‘Yes, a magic greater than anything I have ever seen before. We get to bring Hermione into our family, we get to raise her, teach her but unfortunately, you can never marry her.’ His mother said gently. Gellert didn’t understand but it sounded like his mother didn’t completely either. ‘I would hope, perhaps, that you will love her as a sister instead.’ His mother finished gently.

He left with questions spinning though his mind, finding somewhere secluded to sit and think. His mother had said even she didn’t understand the magic that brought Hermione here, and if his mother didn’t understand it... there was almost nothing his mother didn’t understand.

It could be dark magic, so incredibly dark that his mother had never even heard a whisper of the possibility but Hermione was not a dark witch by any means. She’d cried when they’d gone to pick the bull for Samhain.

There weren’t many other forms of magic beyond his mother’s grasp... unless... the Fey, elusive and powerful beings that were only rumoured to exist. Morgana was said to be Fay, which is why she was such a difficult spirit to speak to. Could Hermione be Fay, that might limit who she could marry. The fairytales that spoke of Fey were fantastical as best and most non-fiction was merely speculative. They were a humanoid species, some people said it was they who gifted witches and wizards with their power, others believed they were a higher entity, perhaps those whom the muggles had based their gods around. There were also theories that said they were a different species, related to Veela and house elves, capable of their own powerful magic but unlike elves, with the wherewithal to wield it themselves. Gellert had never paid them much attention beyond their existence as elusive yet immensely powerful beings who rarely paid attention to the affairs of men and wixen.

Yet that theory would explain a lot, if Hermione really was in some way related to the fey. He doubted she was fey herself unless they truly were closer to humans than anyone had really believed, but she could be descended from one. Her anomalous power, her seeming disregard for wards and natural affinity for magic. It would also explain why she couldn’t marry him, if she was truly related to the fey there would be rules and conditions he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

His behaviour suddenly seemed rather terrible. If he looked back on that conversation over Ostara now, he could clearly see her anguish - how reluctant she was to have to tell him that. She hadn’t wanted to lead him on, she had been trying to let him down easily. He could have kicked himself for reacting so badly.

He jumped to his feet, determined to find her and repair their friendship. His mother was right, they were blessed to have her in whatever capacity they could - sister, husband or friend.

She wasn’t in her room or the library, nor had Berg seen her. Berg asked Neele who hadn’t seen her either. He checked the library and her room again in case he’d missed her, then the common room and finally the stables.

She’d done a lot of work on Katana’s stall since Christmas, but it quickly became evident that she wasn’t here either. Nor was the Longma.

Cold fear began to trickle into his stomach as he searched all their favourite spots, but he really knew she wouldn’t be here. What could have possessed her to take Longma outside the grounds now, when everything was so dangerous. The castle was locked down for a reason, she knew that, everyone knew that.

The guard at the dragon wing gates startled when he arrived, comfortable and lax behind the iron wards of the building. It was a bad sign. The ministry official blathered and stuttered when Gellert demanded to know if anyone had left - plenty of people had apparently, so specified if anyone had left on a Longma.

He didn’t even seem to know what a Longma was. Gellert described it as though speaking to a 4 year old.

‘Oh, the blue dragon-horse!’ The man realised, as though Gellert should have just said that earlier. He rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, came through earlier with a girl.’

Gellert’s heart sunk.

‘And you let her go.’ He bit out.

‘Yeah, orders were to stop anyone getting in, not stop them getting out.’ The man replied, sounding surly.

‘You let an unaccompanied child leave the castle.’

The wizard turned slightly pink, seeming to realise the decision perhaps might have been foolish. Gellert sighed and hurried up to the castle. His mother would be furious, but Hermione was in danger, he would have to get them to send a search party.

He burst into the South Tower, doors banging open, to find it almost deserted. There was not a single coven member present.

‘Where are they?’ He demanded of the first khaki clad official he came across.

‘Left not five minutes ago; there was a sighting of Lucan’s zombies in Munich.’ Fear froze his insides. He was willing to bet that inferi was a decoy and the real Lucan was actually here ready totake Hermione.

‘Quick, get me a duellist. Lady Grindelwald’s daughter has been taken from the castle. We need to find her.’ He snapped. The official paled, then hurried over to the table. Within moments, the murmur was moving through those gathered, that Lucan had gotten his hands on one of the coven children. Gellert prayed to any deity that might exist that Hermione was alright, and that his mother wouldn’t be too angry when she was found wandering. He forced aside that niggling fear that Hermione knew better than to leave the castle, and that she was already in trouble if she’d left.

He itched where he stood as the situation was discussed. They couldn’t contact the coven, so a party of the six best duellists was formed and just as the sun began to set, they left the gates.


	20. Stolen

**Don’t worry, do Gellert Grindelwald or Hermione Granger strike you as the kind of people to let something they feel strongly pass up without fighting? They’re 8 and 10 respectively, they’ve got years yet to fight for what they want.**

After a long day of lessons, Hermione could barely wait for the freedom of visiting Katana in his stall. She never slept anymore, so the soft, repetitive motion of brushing his mane and polishing his scales was as close to the peace of deep sleep as she could get.

The sweet smell of the stables was pierced by the cool, fresh air of Longma’s enchanted stall, occasional wafts of dampness sullying it from Gellert’s Kelpie. She expected to see her beast’s snout poking over the door, having learned her schedule like clockwork, so she was surprised to be met by nothing. Kelpie was tossing his head angrily opposite, seeming unusually agitated.

A flicker of unease stirred in her belly, but she checked anyway, confirming that the stall was indeed empty. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn’t quite get enough air.

She couldn’t think of anywhere her beast could have gone. The stall was still shut tight, both bolts drawn across, so he hadn’t wandered off on his own. Someone must have stolen him.

Just in case she went to the public fields, Longma were social animals and if he had broken out both the herd of other beasts and the luscious enchanted grass they cropped on would have been a beacon to him.

He wasn’t there.

She checked the rose garden, then the cattle yard where the Grindelwald animals had been kept since the rise of Lucan. Still no sign of the distinctive blue-white scales of her Longma.

Her breathing came faster still, even as she maintained a dignified pace as she checked the tack room; Longma’s harness was missing. He had been taken by someone, and they must have left the castle grounds if she hadn’t already seen her beast.

She asked the khaki clad ministry official at the gate. He was a sleepy man with a salt and pepper beard that looked like it had been trimmed with a knife. Either his shaving charms were terrible, or he really wanted to look like a ruffian. His squinted at her as if deciding whether she was worth replying to or if he could get away with turning up his nose at her. Fortunately he decided to answer.

‘Yeah, animal came through here earlier with a girl, they’re the only ones to come out here today.’ He cast a dark look at the fiery eyes of the dragons that would light the area in front of the gates at night, as though wishing nobody would come through at all so that he could get away with falling asleep at his post.

‘Let me through please.’ She half asked, half begged and the man gave a frustrated sigh. Despite his reluctance, he obliged, shuffling into the gatehouse to activate the ward stone. The dragon wings peeled apart and she slipped through to the outside world.

It seemed darker and colder outside the protective barrier of the castle walls, but luckily the lack of traffic meant the prints of the Longma were clear on the ground. She conjured a witchlight and followed the cloven prints down the winding track. They weren’t hurried, just a slow walk as if the rider was completely at ease, although perhaps not very good if the occasional scuff of an almost-halt was to be believed.

The sun was well below the ridge when she came across Katana, that girl from the stables mounted precariously on his back. She froze, torn by relief and fiery rage. How dare that little girl take advantage of her generosity and use her mount without permission? How dare she leave the castle, didn’t she know how much she’d scared Hermione?

The young witch called out to the Longma, who’s head whipped up to stare at her. Without hesitation the beast spun, almost throwing the slip of a girl from his back, and trotted up the path towards her.

‘Hermione!’ The girl whimpered when she caught sight of the furious young witch. Hermione ignored her in favour of cradling Katana’s huge head to her chest and pressing kisses along his soft snout. Her hands came away damp and she could see the blue of his blood speckling her fingers, she ducked down to see where he was injured, tears pricking her eyes. His soft mouth was sore from the sawing at the reins and the savage tugs that the girl used to keep her balance.

Rage flooded Hermione, all thoughts of forgiveness for a girl who just wanted a turn fled her mind. She yanked the girl’s hand, sending her tumbling to the ground with a cry of shock and pain. The young witch loomed over the girl, her shadow long and terrible in the witchlight.

‘How dare you!’ She hissed, baring her stained hands in proof. ‘How dare you take my beast, how dare you injure him?’

Her magic crackled beneath her skin, her hair sparking with anger. Katana rubbed his snout comfortingly against her cheek, almost bowling her over, but if anything it just made her angrier.

‘I’m sorry, didn’t know it was hurting him, I just wanted a go.’ The girl begged, shuffling backwards beneath Hermione’s furious gaze.

‘Then you should have asked. I’ll never say yes now... infact, I’ll speak to Lady Grindelwald, I’ll have you...’ She trailed off, the girl was no longer looking at her. Instead, she was looking at something over Hermione’s shoulder, her previously pale face had morphed to one of abject terror.

A shadow joined hers on the ground, towering up and up, reaching the edge of the trail and rippling up and over the tree line. Someone incredibly tall had just stepped up behind her, someone tall and thin, whose skin was unnaturally cold.

‘What will you do?’ Purred the man behind her. His voice was cold as his skin, and Hermione flinched as sharp blackened nails closed over her shoulder.

‘I’d have her kicked out.’ She trembled, answering the question instinctively.

‘Would you now? And just who are you to waltz up to the venerable Lady Grindelwald and demand to have people kicked out?’ The tall man stepped forwards, and Hermione didn’t need to see the long, black braid trailing down his back to know that they were in deep, deep trouble.

Livius Lucan’s long, pale hand reached out and grasped the blue harness on the Longma, the Grindelwald crest glittering in the witchlight. The beast snapped at him, but he slipped out of the way with laughable ease and he retreated back so that Hermione was between him and the beast.

‘I’ve heard of you, Grindlewald’s ward. Future wife of the young heir. You would make quite a prize.’ The dark wizard reached out again with those pale fingers and ran them over one of her braids. His claw like nails snagged on the soft strands, pulling at her head hard enough to bring out a whimper of pain. ‘I think I might keep you. What better way to force the coven to listen to my vision?’

‘Lady Grindelwald will not make concessions for me.’ She bit out. The young girl was shuffling backwards now, Lucan’s attention was fixed on the older of the two witches. Hermione hoped that she had the sense to run for help as soon as she could.

‘Oh, I imagine she will. I could send her a finger, or perhaps one of those pretty little ears.’ His finger curled away from her hair to cup an ear and Hermione jerked away with an inarticulate screech, scrambling into the protection of Katana’s teeth and hooves. The dark wizard chuckled darkly but kept his distance.

‘Oh yes, I think you’ll do nicely.’ His wand had appeared in his hand, an ugly thing with knobbly knuckles down it’s length - nothing like the lovingly polished wand that she wielded.

Strike first, Gellert had always told her.

So she did. Fire roared from her hands, searing the air and igniting a ring of zombies that had stood invisible around her. Katana lunged at those at her back, teeth snapping and sickening tearing sounds marking the decapitation of a body. Lucan stepped through her flames, a shield burning silver around his body.

In the brightly lit clearing, Hermione could tell that the young girl had gone. She only had to hold out for long enough for her to fetch help. She threw a jinx, then another and another, lights zinging from her hands as fast as she could think of them. Her magic responded to her fear as Katana tore into the bodies behind her, protecting her back. Livius Lucan’s shield flashed again and again, his wand weaving behind it as he deflected her magic. She sent another wave of fire, igniting another ring of bodies and sending thick clouds of smoke billowing around them.

Adrenaline made the leap onto Katana’s back easy and the beast plunged forwards without urging, his flameproof scales barging through the burning inferi as she sent uncontrolled billows of flame out around them. Then they were through, the blackness of night blinding after the bright fire of the battle as Katana surged away.

A bright flash of purple light, a squeal of pain, then blackness.

Blackness.

Blackness.

Blackness.

She hadn’t been out long, perhaps only minutes and pain seared through her heart as she remembered the last, desperate moments. She was airborne, slung over a winged beast she couldn’t see in the pitch black night sky. The skin her cheek rubbed against was warm and leathery, a hard bone protruding where her cheek banged hard enough to bruise with every pump of the beast’s wings.

Katana was gone, probably dead. Her faithful Longma would never have let anyone take her if he was still alive. The tears where whipped from her eyes by the icy wind that blasted past them but she couldn’t move without that bone banging into her nose instead.

They landed at the mouth of a large cave, Livius Lucan swinging off the back of his beast with practiced ease and traversing the moonlit stretch of ground with the reins in his hands. The interior was also unlit and the beast beneath her clopped through what sounded like a large, echoing cavern.

It smelled rank, like the time her father had pulled a dead rat from the attic but worse, as though she’d then put that rat right under her nose. She dry heaved against the horse’s side and a cold laugh echoed from Lucan up ahead.

A moment later the beast stopped and his cold hands hauled her down off the beast. Her hands were immobilised by some spell, and her feet were numb with cold as she was forced over the rough ground and through a fusty, smaller corridor where their footsteps didn’t echo as much.

Then they stepped through a magical barrier and into a room lit by green glowing orbs that floated around the ceiling. Zombies were packed into the space and he forced her between putrid, foul smelling bodies to a set of rough hewn stone stairs. She stumbled up them, propelled by his unforgiving hand which scrunched the back of her dress and she was greatly relieved when they passed through a stone archway in the wall and into a far less offensive room.

There was a circle of runes on the floor, not as intricate as the one Lady Grindelwald had used to create the shade for her lessons, but darker looking. The protection rings around it suggested that whatever he was planning to use it for had great potential for harm.

A desk looked out of place, lit by a real, warm looking candle but marred by several terrible, dark looking books. The dark wizard flicked his wand, conjuring a black pillar in a corner of the room. A second wave had a heavy, medieval set of chains snaking around it and he fastened the heavy manacles around her delicate wrists.

She dropped to the floor, seeing no reason to stand and laid the heavy chins over her knees so they wouldn’t dig into her wrists. She was afraid, but she was reasonably confident that in a matter of minutes she would wake up back in the muggle world with her parents. The Grindelwald castle wards were certainly stronger than this place and she bypassed them every night, so here should be no different. With this thought to anchor her, she shut her eyes, reaching out magically to see if she could remember anything of interest.

There had been bright lights in the distance, a city of some sort, and the wind had been blowing against them as they’d flown. She couldn’t remember the exact wind direction at the castle but there was a reasonable chance that someone would know if she reappeared in her bed the next day. She hoped she would reappear in her bed and not back here, chained to the pillar.

There was a clock on the wall and if she squinted she could just make out the hands in the shadows. It looked to be half past nine, so assuming she’d spent about an hour looking for Katana after lessons and half an hour following him down the hill, then perhaps half an hour since they’d arrived, they’d been airborne for about two hours.

‘You won’t be able to hold me.’ She told him serenely as shoes sent a rock clattering near her. His laugh was closer than she had expected and her eyes snapped open to see his black ones only inches form her own. He was crouched and his wand poked up under her chin, forcing her to maintain eye contact.

‘You are an impressive witch? Nine, perhaps eight? That was some powerful magic for one so young, but you cannot possibly compete with me. I have fought the coven and you are not yet a match for them.’ He laughed cooly, then dropped her chin and stood as a mirror hung on the wall flashed. An image appeared, out of focus and wavering as though the point of view was moving. She couldn’t see the details because of the bad lighting, but it looked like seven figures were huddled near the glowing dragons at the gates. Lucan seemed to see more than her though, because he laughed in delight.

‘And the knight in shining armour rides out to rescue the maiden in distress. How very predictable. I better go reel him in.’

Lucan disappeared with a pop, and Hermione finally got a clear view of the image in the mirror. Gellert, magic curse his foolishness, was leading a band of ministry officials down the path, obviously intending to rescue her, and walking straight into a trap in the process.

Her cry of frustration echoed even after her body had disappeared back to her muggle bedroom.


	21. Death

Their breath clouded the air as they left the castle. It was the coldest night since Ostara, which he couldn’t help but feel was a bad omen. The tracks of the Longma were distinctive and they followed them easily down the track, wands drawn and shield charms ready.

The trees towered over their heads, obscuring any light from the moon. Their wavering witchlights were the only light.

‘Lord Grindelwald!’ Whispered a voice and seven wands snapped down, trained on a tiny waif of a girl who was crawling up the track. It wasn’t Hermione, that was the first thing he noted, then he saw the horrific burns that scarred one side of her body. Perhaps by magic, her eyes and ears had been saved, but the rest of her right side was a mess of charred skin and raw, bleeding scars.

‘Mother of Merlin.’ One of the ministry officials swore and the witch near the back jumped forwards to begin casting healing spells. Gellert’s blood chilled because injuries like that could only mean that something terrible had happened.

‘You’ve got to help her, the young missus.’ The girl was trying to shake off the healer, desperate to pass on her message to him. ‘She was fighting him, and those nasty dead people, her and the dragon horse. You’ve got to help her.’

She fell unconscious as though the need to deliver her message had been all that was keeping her awake, dropping into the arms of the healer.

‘You, take her back to the castle. We need to help Hermione.’ He ordered one of them men, instructing the rest to follow him with renewed urgency. He knew now, for certain, that Hermione was in deep, deep trouble.

They jogged down the track which seemed to stretch forever, Gellert’s heart pounded in his chest, his magic pulsed.

The flash of silver was the first thing they saw - the elegant body of the Longma splayed in a pool of metallic blue blood. Only meters down the track, embers still glowed in the trees and charred husks curled across the road.

‘Mother of Merlin.’ That same official swore again. Whatever battle had been here was long over, and what a battle it had been. The officials moved through the carnage, extinguishing the remaining fires and burning decapitated body parts that were still animated and snatching at their robes. The Longma had put up almost as much of a fight as Hermione; gore splattered it’s hooves and snout and the hooked talons on its wings.

The beast blinked one great eye and breath wheezed from it’s chest, bubbling up through the five cursed slashes.

‘The Longma is alive!’ The medic cried, dropping down beside Gellert and casting a flurry of healing spells on the beast.

‘There’s no sign of Miss Grindelwald, but there’s prints just down the track where a heavily loaded thestral has taken off. Gellert cursed, a word that Petrovna had taught him and would have had his mother locking him in his room for a month is she heard him utter it. He cast one last, desperate look around at the scene of the battle and ordered everyone to head back to the castle.

He trekked back up the hill at the back of the group, the Longma levitated between four of the group up front.

His arms snapped to his sides, his mouth jammed shut and he fell backwards, soft air catching his fall and drifting him soundlessly into the darkness beside the path. He struggled but every limb was immobilised and his magic seemed to be too, sitting immobile and docile however he tried to rouse it. Fingers plucked his wand from his frozen hand, snapping it with a crack that echoed through the woods. Somehow the group seemed to not hear and they continued upwards without him.

He was magically floated up onto the back of a thestral and secured in place by powerful sticking charms. With a lurch they took off, rising above the trees. The glittering form of Blaue Berg grew steadily smaller as they flew away.

They flew for a long time, the only sound the beating of wings and his own pounding heart. He would see Hermione, he reminded himself. At least he would see Hermione. The coven would come for them, he just had to keep Hermione safe.

They landed hours later in what looked like a ramshackle abandoned village. The thestral stumbled slightly over raised metal ridges in the ground but thankfully regained its footing and was led towards a strangely square cave. The metal ridge continued in here, a wave of odour worse than Hermione’s charred battlefield washing over him. The moonlight shone straight through the entrance, dully illuminating a pile of tools in the hallway.

This was a mine, he realised, where muggle carved minerals from the earth... and if so, that smell was probably the muggles. He vomited, then craned his body to try and keep himself from lying in it. A dark voice chuckled and a moment later the magic holding him released. He slid down to the floor and only just managed to stay standing.

‘Tsk Tsk, your little girly was much more polite.’ The dark wizard told him. He was shoved forwards, barely managing to step over discarded tools. They passed down a slightly sloping, dark, corridor, then emerged into a greenish cavern packed with the reeking bodies of the inferi. Some still wielded their tools, or wore rounded tin hats. They pressed closely around them, held off by an invisible shield charm cast by the dark wizard. His heart pounded as he was forced up some stairs and into what could only be the wizard’s private quarters.

The dark wizard froze behind him.

‘No... Not possible.’ He muttered, ruching forwards and almost bowling Gellert to the floor. The boy looked up, seeing a pair of heavy handcuffs resting on an empty dress which pooled on the floor. Of course, he realised, Hermione had disappeared in the same way she did every night, slipping soundlessly and effortlessly through wards and physical restraints. He almost kicked himself for not remembering, for getting himself into this situation.

At least Hermione was safe.

The dark wizard whipped around like a snake, his hand wrapping around Gellert’s throat and lifting him effortlessly into the air.

‘Where did she go?’ Lucan hissed and Gellert choked out, truthfully, that he didn’t know. And he didn’t. He assumed it was back to England, but if she was Fey, it might be back to some ethereal place he’d never heard of. The dark wizard howled in mad rage, flinging the young wizard against the wall. Gellert’s head cracked against stone and stars twinkled across his vision.

A flash of red light burned through the air and Gellert’s legs erupted into pain, making the stars from before feel like sparks.

‘That will keep that one here.’ He heard the wizard mutter, then he was alone with the all consuming waves of fire.

But this was a pain he had dealt with before. He’d seen sage when he’d first come in, there was a white liquid that had looked like milk in a jug near where silver tins of muggle food were stacked in the corner. With the dark wizard no longer present, his magic responded and he summoned both ingredients. He mashed them together with his fingers, and tapped the mixture three times, speaking the familiar incantation. Stars flashed as he pulled the legs of his trousers up, then he almost blacked out as he rubbed the mixture over his agonising injuries. Just to be sure, he also rubbed some over the bump on his head.

It was agonising, but he forced himself to stay awake as the magic worked. As the ringing in his ears faded, he could hear Lucan bellowing at his undead servants as he searched the mine.

He needed to hide somewhere, he decided. There was little cover in the room, but he was fairly certain a strong sticking charm could have him pressed against the ceiling. If he went right above the door, it was unlikely the dark wizard would look up before Gellert could drop down on top of him.

The young wizard staggered on tingly, numb legs across the room and levitated himself to the ceiling, performing a wandless sticking charm. It worked like a treat, even if the effort made his head spin.

He was just in time as Livius Lucan stormed back through the door. Gellert didn’t even wait for the wizard to notice he was missing. He cancelled the sticking charm and dropped like a stone. Lucan collapsed beneath the unexpected weight and surprise helped Gellert grapple the wand away from him in a fluffy of knees and elbows and chins.

Unbelievable power surged through him as he scrambled free, pointing the wand at the wizard who was now wheezing on the floor, an arm held to his gut where Gellert had somehow managed to land a solid kick.

‘Go on then, do your worst.’ The wizard taunted. Gellert happily obliged, throwing every thought, every ounce of the throbbing pain in his legs and head, his fear at having lost Hermione. He threw it out with a single thought, a single directive through the wand he held clutched in his hands. There was a sound like a thunderclap, a flash of light so bright that he was left blinking, and a terrible drawn out scream.

The dark wizard was flat on the floor, his skin ghostly pale and growing paler. Yet he was laughing, a crazed, pained laugh.

‘I underestimated you.’ The wizard wheezed. ‘I am dark, but you, you will be a demon.’

The words chilled Gellert with a deep sense of foreboding, an tangible foreshadowing he could almost feel. He scrambled desperately from the room as palm-sized flakes of skin began to fall away from the dark wizard, drifting like ash to the floor.

Fire poured from the wand, clearing him a path through the inferi and he dashed out into the clear, evening air. He didn’t stop, stumbling out into the abandoned village and to closest building. He curled up in the shadows, shaking with stress, fear and the incredible power that had surged through him only moments before.

He had killed someone. A horrible, evil, dark wizard who had killed thousands, but a person none the less. He jumped up, hurling the long, knobbly wand out of the window. It spun, twisted, then disappeared into the darkness of the night. He curled back up on the floor and cried and cried.


	22. Hunting

Hermione didn’t even wait a moment after waking, she was already up and tearing down the stairs at a pace that was certainly not dignified. She flashed past tutors quicker than she could be scolded for her unladylike manner, bowled other students and flung herself around corners. A suit of armour tumbled to the floor as she crashed into it, bounced off and left it clanging behind her as she clattered down the flight of stairs, across the entrance hall and into the south tower.

The entire coven was arrayed around the table, five exhausted and pale ministry officials with them. They looked up when she burst into the room and silence rang loud for several long moments.

‘Hermione!’ Lady Grindelwald let out a strangled cry, took a half step towards her, then recovered herself.

‘I know where he is!’ She panted, out of breath.

‘Gellert?’ The Lady asked, desperation in her voice.

‘No, Livius Lucan... wait, Gellert?’ Cold fear flushed through her, she remembered the dark wizard leaving to find him, the group that had left the walls. ‘He’s got Gellert?’

‘Yes, we thought he had you too.’ Frau Tunninger said kindly.

‘He did, I apparated out last night.’ She answered honestly, missing the looks that were sent her way.

‘And just how did you get back inside the castle?’ An unfamiliar witch demanded, but Lady Grindelwald raised a quelling hand.

‘She apparates in from England every day, bypassing the castle wards. I can only attribute it to accidental magic, as neither of us can explain it. I do not consider it a risk to our security.’ She dismissed with a wave of her hand. ‘So, you can tell us where Lucan is hiding?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Katerina, of course this child cannot tell us, the location is unplottable. Send her on her way and let the adults deal with this.’ She recognised the witch from her similarities to Yannick.

‘I can too!’ Hermione protested.

‘Perhaps, this little witch can tell us how she got there, rather than the location.’ A portly wizard with a long, viking-like beard chastised.

‘Yes.’ Hermione declared eagerly. ‘What was the wind direction last night?’

It was the woman next to the Viking who answered that it had been northerly.

‘So we flew for two hours into the wind, to a cave just south of a city.’ She said. ‘A thestral is slightly slower than my Longma, who can... could... cover about a hundred and ten miles in an hour into the wind, so assuming the thestral could cover a hundred, over two hours it would cover two hundred. So at a two hundred mile radius...’

She climbed up onto one of the chairs so that she could reach over the map. They’d studied scales and maps in geography recently and she’d made sure to revise it during her lunch break at school. That paid off now as she conjured a long string and measured it against the scale in the corner of the map. Lady Grindelwald pinned the end of it to Grindelwald Castle and Hermione extended the string northwards, stretching it to the same length as two hundred miles on the scale. She used a stick of charcoal passed to her by the Viking to scribe an arc. There was only one city near the line.

‘The city I saw was midway to the horizon, so assuming the cruising altitude of a thestral is slightly lower than a Longma, that would make it about two and a half thousand feet, which is a total visible range of about sixty miles (she’d looked that up at the library on the way home), half of that is thirty.’

She measured out thirty miles on her string against the scale and scribed another arc, this one from the city. It crossed her other arc twice.

‘So the cave where he is staying must be either here’ - she circled one intersection, ‘or here’ - she circled the other.

As one, every wixen in the room leaned in, and peered at the two places. One was flat, open floodplain before a river; an unlikely candidate. The other was a hilly area, with a mining settlement nestled among two thick woodlands.

‘I’d put money on it being there.’ Viking poked the spot with his large finger, smudging the charcoal.

‘I would agree. Dress and mount up, we will meet in the courtyard in fifteen minutes.’ Lady Grindelwald instructed. The coven parted with a murmur of anticipation. Several people clapped her on the back and complimented her intelligence, but she was too nervous to be proud.

‘Hermione. Come with me.’ Lady Grindelwald instructed. She was already dressed in her stern battle dress, and Hermione jogged after her as she strode up the stairs to one of the many long galleries. She stopped in front of a small set of deepest black battle robes.

‘Put these on, you’re coming with us.’ She instructed. Too surprised to rogue, Hermione obeyed, slipping out of the brown day dress she wore an pulling on the soft black shirt and tunic. The robe was the only layer on top of that, so light and simple compared to every other item she’d worn since coming to the castle. The Lady helped her don the leather breastplate and a pair of gauntlets with permanent shield charms imbued in them.

She felt like she was in fancy dress as the witch stood back to admire the effect. The entire outfit had resized to fit her as soon as it was donned, but she felt like she was playing at being some really cool fictional character. The cool swish of the robes around her ankles made her self conscious of exactly how she walked and the weight of the gauntlets made her hyper aware of how hers arms swung by her side. Suddenly she couldn’t remember if she usually swung them or held them rigidly beside her.

‘I saw the place where you were taken. That was some impressive magic.’ Lady Grindelwald complimented from up ahead. Her jaw dropped, having never heard such a blatant compliment from the stern older witch. ‘Your Longma will recover, although he will be scarred.’

‘Katana survived?’ She gasped, certain that the purple flash had been a death knell.

‘He did, but only just. Healers and magizoologists are still tending to him. You will take Kelpie to the mines, where your job is to find Gellert and get him out.’

Hermione understood and an elf had already rigged the beast when they reached the stables. Like her, he wore a pitch black cloak like a medieval knight’s horse, his usual blue crested tack now decorated by swirls of the black stones that held the enchantments. The Viking clapped her on the back as they arrived, congratulating her again and his wife smiled kindly as she helped her up onto the beast. Frau Yannick was glaring at her from atop a silvery Granian and Lady Grindelwald swept over to the remaining Granian, mounting as well.

‘We will wait to land until you arrive. Good speed.’ Lady Grindelwald announced, then in a thunder of wings, seven mounts lunged skyward, powerful wind almost knocking Hermione from Gellert’s Kelpie as fourteen wings beat in unison.

‘You just follow me, witchling.’ The Viking said, his sleipnir towering over her. Kelpie was not a small mount, he would have been a tall horse in the muggle world, but the sleipnir had backs so broad that even most adults had to ride them side saddle. It was a mark of Viking’s height that he was comfortably astride.

Kelpie may have been smaller, but he was faster and he really didn’t like being behind the lumbering sleipnir. The massive eight legged horse had more stamina though and by the time her legs were beginning to hurt, Kelpie was flagging. She finally got a break from reining him in, only for the six witches and wizards around her to close ranks at some unshared signal. A moment later they burst out into a clearing.

‘They’ve already checked for wards and found nothing.’ A witch on an Indian looking half goat, half horse animal nudged her mount out in front of the group, then flicked her reins. The beast spat, a glob of poisonous green saliva flying unnaturally far, then landing at the base of an abandoned building. Even from here she could hear it hiss and a coil of smoke spiralled up from the spot.

‘All clear. Is that the cave?’ The witch pointed to the cave entrance. Hermione nodded, remembering the place with crystal clarity. It looked very different in daylight - a single, neat square of black in a rosy granite cliff face. The buildings were a little ghostly, so clearly abandoned but without a sign of a struggle. She could almost imagine that the workers had gone for lunch, or perhaps to church and they would be back to continue mining any moment.

Large piles of dark, brownish-grey rocks towered above them, sorted into various sizes. The buildings were all wooden, but black dust permeated every crack and crevasse, making them blend into the stone. A grubby stream ran past a machine of some kind, but the paddles had been jammed by a fallen cart and the water level had backed up behind the obstacle.

The six that were near her spread out and moved through the buildings and piles, then met up on the grassy patch before the cave. Wind buffeted her and depressions formed all over the grass. A moment later the seven winged mounts and their riders winked into existence as invisibility charms were cancelled.

‘It’s too quiet.’ A dark skinned witch muttered, swinging off her mount with the others. The well trained beasts formed their own defensive circle, hindquarters in and a ring of gnashing teeth facing out. Hermione firmly told Kelpie to wait, then hurried after them, wand drawn.

The coven cast a bright witchlight in the entryway and Hermione realised it was full of abandoned tools. A set of tracks ran down, through the small passageway and into the gloomy depths.

They followed the tracks, the goat-witch lead the way forwards, constantly casting spells. Hermione knew something was wrong when they emerged into the cavern. There was no ward, no green glowing orbs. The dead milled around uncertainly, put down in minutes by the spell work of the coven.

She pointed them to the stairs and they climbed up cautiously, emerging into the room. The pillar was still there, as was her dress and the chains. They trod over the dirty ground, using their wands to investigate every corner.

‘There’s something here.’ Frau Tunninger held her lit wand near a greenish smear on the floor. The dark skinned woman bustled up, cast a quick spell which glowed faintly blue, then scooped some up on her fingers. She sniffed it cautiously.

‘Some rudimentary potion - sage for certain, mixed with... milk?’ The woman answered, wiping her fingers clean on her tan battledress.

‘What did it do, Rose?’ The Viking asked, peering suspiciously over her shoulder.

‘It is a bone healing spell from our family Grimmoire. That is my son’s work.’ Lady Grindelwald’s voice rung across the room.

‘Bone healing at ten, you don’t ask much from your children, Katerina.’ The Viking laughed. Lady Grindelwald scowled at him and he laughed even harder.

‘There’s more up here!’ Herr Tunninger pointed at the ceiling above the door and the goat riding witch cast several spells.

‘There was dark, dark magic cast here... although not of any spell I know. Nor does the signature match Lucan.’ The witch continued as she cast more spells. ‘Oh... Oooh.’

She backed away suddenly, looking with horror and disgust at the floor beneath him.

‘This is Lucan.’ She pointed at the floor, where their boots had tracked the dirt all through the room.

‘The ground?’ The dark witch asked.

‘No, she means the dust. One of the most powerful disintegration spells I’ve ever seen.’ This witch was pale with long silvery hair. Her robes weren’t as ornate as some of the others, and Hermione guessed that she was Neele’s mother.

A tall wizard with skin as dark as coal jumped back from the dirt with a remarkably feminine squark.

‘Do you know who cast it?’ The dark witch asked, bending and poking at the dirt with her wand.

‘I’m not sure... I think... but it can’t be, he’s so young... I guess with accidental magic...’

‘Hermione, I’d like you to do exactly what Arika tells you to. You’re more than familiar with Gellert’s magic.’ Lady Grindelwald ordered. Hermione nodded and stepped up obediently. Arika drew her wand, looking uncertain as Hermione reached confidently for her hand. Remebering that Arika - Frau Fleiss - had learned magic the common way, Hermione faltered.

‘I’m not good enough to watch without touching yet.’ She admitted. Arika raised her eyebrows at Lady Grindelwald, but offered her hand out. Hermione took it and shut her eyes.

It didn’t come as easily as mixing with Gellert’s magic; the dark witch seemed much more rigid, and her magic was like iron as it flowed down her arm and through the wand. Hermione followed it.

The spell she cast was complex, but Hermione could easily see how it coaxed tiny strands of foreign magics from the ground and air. The witch let the spell end before Hermione could identify any of them. Her eyes blinked open, then she dropped Arika’s hand and raised her own. With her eyes shut she poured out her own magic, sending it sweeping through the rock. Whenever it encountered a different magic strand, she magically examined it. The strongest presence was Arika’s iron magic, followed by a slippery, bone white magic. Gellert’s magic was strong here too - bursts of his dark, cool magic that jumped out to hers as though waving a flag. She opened her eyes to see a soft, white mist lying over the floor and the raised eyebrows of the coven surrounding her.

‘Gellert did cast some magic here, but I don’t know what.’ She announced. The adults shared troubled looks.

‘It doesn’t mean anything, Katerina, I’m sure it was just accidental magic born of fear.’ Frau Tunninger patted Lady Grindelwald on the back and the tall witch straightened.

‘He has a lot of his father in him.’ She said sadly.

‘Nonsense. His father was a power hungry braggart from birth. Your Gellert is a sweet and helpful child, just look at how he treats Hermione.’ The Viking scoffed. ‘Now, he can’t have gotten far. How about Hermione and I go look for him, whilst you all finish up here.’

With that decision made and agreed upon, Hermione was steered gently from the room and back out into the bright sunlight. The Viking pulled out his wand and waved it in the air with short, jerky movements. Bursts of white shot from his wand and shot across the area, forming a mass of white where the mounts waited, a singular blob where Kelpie stood outside the group, and another in a building to the left.

The tall wizard nudged her forwards and she hurried in through the dark doorway. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkened interior. It was a large room, filled with iron troughs and buckets. A large doorway at one end opened towards the mine, the other end had troughs which terminated over abandoned, half filled horse carts.

‘Gellert?’ She called out, ‘its me, Hermione.’

She thought she heard a quick scuff at the far end and started cautiously between two troughs.

‘Gellert? It’s okay, your mum’s here. I’m here with...’ She faltered, glancing behind her to see that Viking hadn’t followed her. ‘Well, I don’t know who he is, but I call him “Viking”.’

‘That’s Herr Lintzen.’ A voice drifted from the far corner. It sounded muffled, but definitely Gellert. She hurried down the aisle now and through an open doorway into what was probably a supervisor’s office. There was a large desk, polished in direct contrast with the grubby workroom outside. A handful of poor quality crystals were arranged on the desk and an ink pot had spilled across a massive ledger. A battered fountain pen rolled away as she kicked it, and she bent to pick it up off the floor and replaced it on the desk. Gellert was huddled in the corner, the only dark spot in the room.

‘Are you okay?’ She asked gently. It was testament to how not okay he was that he actually admitted it. She moved around the table until she stood over him, noticing that his shoulders shook slightly. He still hadn’t raised his head, but she had heard the tears in his voice. She shrugged and plopped down to the floor beside him.

‘The coven have put down the zombies and are clearing up upstairs. I’ve got Kelpie here too.’ She started. ‘They’re not angry with you of course - although, now that your mum isn’t so terrified for you, I imagine I’m about to get a lecture and a half for going after that girl alone.’

‘She loves you, you’ll be fine.’ Gellert mumbled, ‘but you’re right, it was stupid.’

Miffed, but unable to argue otherwise, Hermione fell silent for a moment.

‘Frau Fleiss said that was the strongest disintegration curse she’d ever seen.’ Gellert moaned and finally looked up. His face was blackened with dirt and smudged with tears and his eye’s held the most tortured expression she had seen.

‘I killed someone, Hermione.’ He admitted. She cocked her head at him.

‘So? He killed loads of people. Besides, the coven would have killed him anyway. You just started early. You probably saved loads of people.’

‘You think so?’ He perked up slightly.

‘Of course. If he’d managed to slip away again he might have caught hundreds more people before they caught him.’

‘I guess. Can we not tell everyone about it though? It’s just, I don’t want people to think I’m like my father.’ He looked down again.

‘Your mum told me about him, you know? The first thing I thought afterwards was that you were nothing like that.’

‘That makes one. He told me I’d be a dark wizard when I grew up.’

‘Yeah, but he was messed up already. I bet you didn’t actually intend for that to happen, did you?’ Asked the young witch.

‘I just wanted him to go away and not hurt you again.’ The boy replied.

‘Exactly, see. You didn’t go and plan the most painful death you could. You’re just a powerful wizard who’s magic obeys him.’

He agreed but still seemed unconvinced.

‘Besides, I’m here, and Kelpie is outside waiting for you. We’ll still like you even if some stooge calls you a dark wizard for defending us.’

She supported him out of the room, wishing that Lucan was still alive so that she could disintegrate hi when she learned that he’s broken both of Gellert’s legs. The action after the healing, followed by hours huddled on a cold floor hadn’t done the injuries any favours and he’d probably spend several days with the healers when they got home.

Viking - Herr Lintzen - was waiting for them outside. He clapped both children on the back sending them staggering, then bodily picked them up and deposited them on the towering back of Kelpie. The beast clopped in a circle to try and nuzzle Gellert’s leg, but he was seated behind Hermione and was unreachable. A moment later the other members of the coven filed out, each greeting Gellert. His mother just looked at him for a long moment, then nodded and walked away to mount her own beast.


	23. Return

Hermione was right. There was considerably less fanfare than expected when he arrived home. His mother was not at all angry, if anything she seemed pleased although Hermione did get a ‘lecture’. She also got banned from magic lessons for two weeks and was instead assigned additional dancing, etiquette, event planning and ‘social recognition’ (Hermione had made the mistake of calling Herr Lintzen “Viking” within hearing distance. The large wizard had found it hilarious, his mother, less so.) He didn’t know how his mother had known exactly the best way to punish the girl who virtually lived and breathed magic but he suspected Legilimency was involved.

She was also right that he had to spend three days being tended to by a healer - his legs had been broken in what was called a complex fracture, so his healing spell had left the bone warped and had trapped several nerves. The healer had to vanish the entire bone and regrow it, which involved no less than seven doses of skelegro and a day and a half of excruciating pain whilst Hermione sat by his bedside and hummed silly muggle songs.

If he’d milked the skelegro situation a little once his legs were functional again so that he could hear more about Nelly the Elephant and Bob the Builder, nobody would have questioned him.

Hermione also spent some time with Atalanta, the girl who had stolen Katana and led to this whole situation in the first place. The girl was not quite an orphan, but with her father’s addiction to dreamless sleep she may as well have been. He’d initially scorned the girl and her family, then there’d been the sobering realisation that her father had first taken dreamless sleep to avoid memories of his time bound under Frederich Grindelwald. Hadn’t that been a difficult realisation!

That aside, it turned out that the girl had physically tackled one of the burning inferi to get out of the circle, using her momentum and the burning body to clear a path through the others. The dark magic which had been involved in the inferi meant that much of the scarring would never heal. He had to give her credit, for a girl of seven, she was incredibly brave. Her father had yet to realise his daughter was missing and had left the castle without her. That, or he’d crawled into some distant corridor of the warrens and was still down there somewhere.

The general public had been told that he had defeated the dark wizard but nothing more and his classmates only knew that he’d been captured first. Hermione brought him piles of cards and sweets from the departing population.

As much as everyone else seemed to think he was some kind of hero, Livius Lucan’s last words continued to echo through his head and every time he shut his eyes, he saw that flake of skin falling off the wizard’s face as he disintegrated. Most nights, he woke up from nightmares, hurling his latest dose of potions over the side of his bed where a concerned Beastie would vanish it with a pop. The healer offered dreamless sleep, but eventually settled on vitamin potions when he refused. The shadows beneath his eyes grew deeper and deeper because, although he’d never admit it to Hermione, or even really to himself, he had enjoyed it.

He had enjoyed pointing the wand at the powerful dark wizard, being in control, the magic had felt glorious and powerful as it rushed through him in a heady wave. He was sick, he knew he was. It was so completely wrong to feel that way and it was because of this that he knew Lucan was right. He was powerful, he was far more powerful than Lucan, and he was dark. He had to be dark if he could enjoy killing someone. And if he was dark and powerful... he knew what people had thought of his father, really, the potential was already there, a poisonous beast coiled beneath the surface and waiting for an excuse to come out.

He felt sick again at the thought.

He had had dreams of him and Hermione, side by side as they hunted down faceless dark wizards, but now he saw himself, standing near the doorway with darkness in his eyes as Hermione, hair flying, spat accusations at him. But he was the true Grindelwald, so it wasn’t the dark wizard that was removed in his dream, it was the witch. Beautiful, kind, powerful Hermione was thrown like a rag doll through the gates.

He heaved over the side of the bed, then with a sinking feeling, realised that it was day time and Hermione was reading a book in the window seat.

She jumped up with a gasp, vanishing the mess with a wave of her small hand. The book thudded to the floor and landed open, face down. If she’d been any less distracted by him, she would have called it sacrilege and spent the next week nursing the spine back to health.

‘Gellert? Are you okay?’ She hurried over to the bed and pressed her hand to his forehead. He shrugged it off, feeling claustrophobic and clammy.

‘I’m fine.’ He bit out, squinting into the sunlight to try and read the clock by the window.

‘It’s late morning. Sunday, in case you forgot. I’ve just come back from a meeting with your mother and I’m finally allowed to do magic again.’ She rolled her eyes as she said “finally”. He almost thought she was going to let it go, then she plopped down on his bed, looked him in the eye and asked him to tell her about it.

He shook his head, but his attempt to escape was foiled by an unwillingness to cross the room in his nightshirt, something he was fairly certain she already knew.

‘Talk to me Gellert.’ She insisted softly. He looked between her and the screen across the room, calculating the distance. Then, nightshirt be damned, healing legs be damned, he dove for the screen. Hermione’s squeak of surprise was gratifying, but more gratifying was that he was no longer trapped and subjected to her interrogation.

She was gone when he came out, and he found her moodily waiting beside the door, a cloak slung over her arm and a thick pair of heavy gloves in her spare hand.

‘What on earth are you planning?’ He asked warily. Hermione’s ideas tended to leave at least one member of the household angry and almost unfailingly resulted in punishment. She sniffed, clearly offended by his tone.

‘The elves have promised to let me help in the gardens. They’re dealing with the magical gardens today.’

His worst suspicions confirmed, Gellert groaned but summoned his own set of thick gloves. He could at least hope to perform damage control. Already, possible disasters were running through his mind’s eye; Hermione would be eaten by devil’s snare, or, she would accidentally burn the whole lot. Perhaps she would somehow manage to find a doxy nest or uproot a particularly mature mandrake.

The young witch was already excitedly hurrying down the hallway, gloves and cloak flapping in her hand. Resigned, he followed afterwards.

They stopped by the paddock first where Katana was recuperating. He was the same as ever on his left side, but his right was marred by long, deep scars that ran across his hindquarters and up his wing, leaving the delicate leathery skin in irreparable tatters, then slashing brutally over his unprotected neck and face. The healer had managed to restore his eyesight, despite the cut that ran just beneath his eye. They observed him grazing for a moment, his movements had begun to loosen and his back leg only limped a little now, then Hermione called him over and gently rubbed the healing cream into his scars whilst Gellert held his head still.

She regained some of her perk as they left the stables and headed for the garden.

They didn’t even make it there before his mother popped into existence, a brown wrapped package in her hand and a scowl on her face. Gellert swallowed nervously, wondering how on earth Hermione seemed to consistently annoy his mother but somehow come out of it more in her favour than before.

‘What is this?’ His mother demanded, waving the package at the young witch who stood in front of her, completely un-cowed.

‘Acromantula silk.’ She replied, completely straight faced. Gellert’s jaw dropped.

‘And why, exactly, did you deem it necessary to buy no less than twenty yards of acromantula silk?’

‘I thought I could spend my allowance?’ Hermione replied innocently. ‘But I promise it’s a good idea. Do you think Frau Hassel would help me to develop a potion?’

If his mouth hadn’t already been hanging open, it would have hit the floor then. Not only had Hermione bought something more than a little outrageous, she’d then spoken back to his mother and iced the cake by asking for a favour. His mother gave a resigned sigh.

‘If you write her a letter, I will see that it is delivered. I make no promises for Rose’s reply.’ His mother gave a resigned sigh and passed the package to an elf. ‘The silk will be stored in the treasury. I don’t want to know how you managed to get hold of it.’

Then Hermione was grinning wildly and skipping on her way down to the gardens.

Their gardening experience, much to his surprise, went off almost without a hitch. Hermione managed to trim the thieve’s roses and helped an elf repot a devil snare (the old one had been a casualty of their snowy duel) without a single incident, only losing a single button to the roses which was quickly recovered and reattached by elf magic.

He was thunderstruck when they arrived back to the castle and found Frau Hassel waiting for them. She wore work robes, which was rather irregular when visiting someone, although so was sitting in the children’s living room to wait for said children. The dark skinned witch stood to greet them and Gellert bowed as Hermione curtsied next to him.

‘Good afternoon children, I see you’ve been getting an early start on your herbology.’ She didn’t gesture to a seat, so they all remained standing. This may have been Gellert’s home, but still the Lady Hassel was the one in charge.

‘Oh yes, Frau Hassel!’ Hermione said eagerly. ‘We’ve been pruning thieve’s roses and repotting devil’s snare.’

Gellert wondered how she seemed to consistently know exactly how to make adults melt. It wasn’t just her age, he was certain he hadn’t had the ability to wheedle favours from his superiors at that age. Perhaps it was her boldness; he never would have dared try to pull what she had with his mother earlier and now here she was, one of the coven waiting for her.

No, he didn’t think he could have gotten away with being so bold. Hermione just seemed to know how to push and when to bend.

‘I couldn’t help but wonder what you wanted this time. I was surprised by your last request, but I could see it was put to good use in those self inking quills.’ The older witch smiled.

‘I was hoping to make a potion that could be painted over something to protect it from sunlight.’ Hermione answered. ‘It needs to not react badly with a permanent sticking charm or the impervious charm.’

The potions master nodded in consideration.

‘You want to stop something fading?’ The witch asked.

‘No, I want to stop the sun weakening some special fabric. I don’t really mind which colour it ends up.’ Hermione answered. Gellert was foxed and Frau Hassel seemed intrigued.

‘I’ll need a sample of the fabric.’

‘Of course.’ Hermione replied with a smile. ‘I can have it tomorrow.’

‘Please owl it to me.’

Then Frau Hassel swept from the room, her rough green skirts rustling behind her. Gellert stared between the now empty doorway and Hermione. The young witch had taken a seat on the armchair and was now casually reading The Witch of the Wasps from one of the books of children’s stories.

Merlin, he wished he could marry her. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect witch.


	24. Letter

‘What in Merlin’s name are you doing?’ Gellert demanded. Hermione ignored him and continued carefully laying the golden sheet of Kevlar atop the lattice of silvery strands of acromantula silk. It was painfully dry in the room, courtesy of a whole host of environmental spells that she’d spent weeks perfecting. The raw silk was brittle as a result, but at least the stickiness had faded. It was a necessary compromise if she wanted to get this perfect. And it had to be perfect. It had taken every penny of her pocket money to persuade the Southampton sailmaker to part with the high end fabric, and almost the entirety of her wizarding allowance to buy unrefined acromantula silk. There would be no second chances.

She cold feel the young wizard moving around the room and trying to peer over her shoulders. Carefully, she used a smooth wooden spatula to smooth out the air bubbles, then took a deep breath. Using her wand, she carefully cancelled the environmental charms and started misting water across the layers on the bench.

Gellert must have had some pressing reason to talk to her because he transfigured an empty cauldron into a stool and sat opposite her. She steadfastly ignored him, now carefully drying the fabric with gusts of warm air. The wand made her magic feel oddly muffled, but she needed it to fine tune the spells to exactly the right strength - too much heat and the acromantula silk would be irreparably damaged, too much water and the potion Frau Hassel had created for her wouldn’t stick.

The potion itself was interesting and made up of two parts, the ingredients remaining a mystery to Hermione. It was a deep, metallic black, runnier than most potions and it would dry to a thin film, similar to cling film in the modern muggle world. The second part was dark, chrome blue and was even thinner. It had to be misted finely over the first potion to complete the magic.

She tipped the first potion over the fabric and used the wooden spatula to push it through the delicate weave, making sure every strand was soaked.

‘How is your project progressing?’ Lady Grindelwald swept through the doorway as well. Her height meant she could see over the table easily from behind the young witch. Hermione ignored her too, now carefully misting the second potion from it’s spray bottle. The Lady was not offended, casting a couple of diagnostics with a wave of her hand and observing the results with interest.

‘I think it’s ready.’ Hermione cautiously poked the fabric with one hand. The potion had formed a dark, rubbery skin. She could just see the weave of the kevlar through it and when she peeled it off the surface, it was unbelievably light.

‘It looks excellent. Let’s go and see if it does the job.’ Hermione rolled up the sheet and followed Lady Grindelwald, Gellert trailing behind her. Katana was unconscious in the paddock, sedated by a rather sceptical looking magizoologist. The British witch was nothing like anyone Hermione had met in this time; closer to Radagast the Brown than Gandalf. Despite it being mid summer, she wore a man’s leather overcoat with bulging pockets that fell almost to her knees. A bird nested on a wide brimmed straw hat over loose, reddish-brown hair. Her blue dress had been tucked into her belt, showing off sturdy men’s work boots. She introduced herself as Elsa Scamander, rubbing her grubby hands clean on her dress to shake their hands briskly. Then, with no further pleasantries, she grabbed the fabric from Hermione’s arms and unrolled it. Mrs. Scamander put the fabric through all kinds of tests, stretching, flapping, tearing before simply inspecting it closely.

‘Remarkable, it should work.’ She finally said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. The acromantula silk is fully protected, you say?’ Hermione nodded and allowed the matriarch to explain the processes. It was interesting to listen to her talk, describing the properties of the Kevlar despite only having learned of it’s existence a week ago.

Hermione left the two more experienced witches to graft the fabric over the wing. She couldn’t think of any way to repair the rest of the damage, but at least her beautiful mount was no longer earthbound.

‘So what’s up, Gellert?’ She asked, sidling over to him. He still looked exhausted and she knew he was having nightmares about his experience with Livius Lucan. Today though, despite his haggard appearance, there was a flicker of light in his eyes.

He brandished a heavy letter, then looked at her expectantly. She peered with some confusion at the heavy scroll. It was plain, identical to any other scroll she’d seen before. The ribbon that bound it was maroon and the seal was black ink.

For several long, awkward moments Gellert stared at her and she stared at the scroll. Then...

‘Oh right, muggle, sorry. It’s my letter to Durmstrang!’ This time, when he brandished the scroll, Hermione noticed the eagle on the seal, and the crisp gothic calligraphy in black ink that spelled out Gellert’s name.

‘Go on then, open it.’ Hermione said eagerly. She’d heard very little about Durmstrang, only enough to know that most Northern and Eastern European witches and wizards attended and that it was an important part of the sponsorship process. It was the school that contacted families that had expressed an interest with the next year’s muggleborns and sponsorship was given out from there. Only those with sponsorship were accepted, the rest were left to be taken in by the small independent schools run by local ministries.

Hermione was lucky enough to be skipping that step.

Gellert had broken the seal and unrolled the scroll, his eyes flicked from side to side as he read it.

‘Honourable Gellert Grindelwald, scion of House Grindelwald, Lord of Blau Berg. It would be my pleasure to invite you to accept your place at Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning. In anticipation of your acceptance I have included a list of the necessary books and equipment.

I would also remind you that beasts classified as category XXXX and above are not suitable mounts and should an alternative be needed, you must send an owl at the earliest opportunity. A guide will await you at the school portal on September 1st, no later than sunset.

Yours sincerely,

Headmaster Ernest Vindictus, Professor of Education in Rituals and Ancient Spellcasting.’

Her young friend read the scroll to her and Hermione shared his grin, this was a moment she knew witches and wizards of every class looked forwards to for their entire lives. Then her smile became slightly forced; with Gellert off to school, she would be losing her only real friend. He would be busy with the others in some far off castle learning incredible magic, and she would still be here learning dancing and manners. She had another year before she got to go to school. She could already tell how cold and lonely the castle would be without him there.

‘What’s on the list?’ She finally asked, peering at the scroll and trying to read it upside down.

‘The uniform; brown, brown and more brown - oh look, some colour; red half robe and red fur cloak. We need lots of books, Elementary Spell Casting, Defence and Offence: A Guide to Combative Magic, Birds and Beasts, Beginner Brews, Ancient Civilisations Book 1: Greeks, Egyptians and Romans.’ He listed the books, all titles that were unfamiliar to her and she eagerly guessed at the subjects that each would be associated with.

‘Then we need a cauldron, a set of scales, dragon-hide gloves, a staff and a wand.’ He listed off. Hermione had seen coven members with staffs strapped to their saddles, but she’d never seen anyone carrying one in a casual situation, or even using one for that matter.

‘What about an owl? Are you allowed to take an owl so that we can talk?’ She demanded. Gellert smiled and pointed to the last line of the letter.

‘Permitted pets include owls, cats, toads and dogs. Please submit applications in writing for familiars of other species.’ He read out, Hermione grinned. She couldn’t wait to go back to the Unterhalb; the magical shopping district that Gellert had taken her to after her first week of visits.

Instead, as Mrs Scamander finished grafting the fabric to Katana’s wings, they discussed staves and duelling outfits. The outfit that had been lent to her by Lady Grindelwald now waited on a mannequin in her rooms, but Gellert assured her that it was only a temporary item. She would receive her own when she reached fifteen and came of age. It was an exciting thought; a set of armour designed to suit her style, her magic and her body.

They fell silent as Katana was revived by a series of spells, watching as the beast raised it’s head, then clambered awkwardly to his feet.

The repair was three black slashes, each about three fingers thick which flexed evenly with the surrounding natural skin. The Longma looked ridiculous as he noticed the repair, then tested it several times, huge wings spreading to either side of him and powerful gusts of wind buffeting them as he flapped them experimentally.

‘Jump up.’ Mrs Scamander ordered, then picked Hermione up and plopped her on the Longma’s slippery, scaly back without bothering with a saddle. The young witch’s squeak of fear was lost in the boom of displaced air and roar of wind as they surged upwards. She grabbed desperately for grip, yanking accidentally on his silky mane and digging her knees into his sides. Katana’s wingbeats faltered at her accidental abuse, and his flight became even more uneven. She wrapped her arms desperately around his neck and endured an eternity of terrified ascent before they finally levelled out.

It was significantly less secure without the harness, but now that he wasn’t surging upwards, she could relax. Apologising to her mount, she glanced over at where the acromantula silk and Kevlar patch stood out starkly against the silvery-white of his natural leather wings. They beat strongly, confidently, there was no hesitation or signs of pain. Her healing had been a success.

Peering down she could see the patchwork of muggle fields stretching out to her left, to her right the ripples of the hills stretched out like the surface of a deep green sea. Summer had melted the whitecaps of snow on the towering peaks beyond the foothills and heather dusted the grey rocks like jade inlaid in silver. Katana circled gently on a current of warm air, circling steadily and she scrambled to adjust her weight before she slipped off his back.

Now that they were flat, she could concentrate enough to cast a sticking charm to keep her firmly anchored and the ride became much more enjoyable. With flight restored, witch and steed glided together until, soundlessly, Hermione disappeared.


	25. Shopping

There was something different about visiting the Unterhalb this time. There was an undercurrent of anticipation and excitement that could only be because he was about to finally get his own wand.

They were all three dressed to the nines, bedecked in their best robes and all trimmed with liberal swathes of Grindelwald blue. Hermione gripped his hand tightly, only releasing him for just long enough to step through the fire before hanging onto him again as they emerged into the square.

It was far busier than last time, the square was mobbed by families with children spilling out of The Hexenkessel and eating at benches surrounded by large packages. A bubble of space formed around them, an instinctive reaction to the presence of more powerful wixen, but otherwise they went almost unnoticed. They magicked any trace of soot off their robes, then his mother led them down the street to get robes measured.

There was a queue of children waiting to be measured for robes at Alterman’s spilled out of the door. His mother led them to the doorway, pausing behind a woman who looked more like a beetle than a witch in her iridescent green dress. Her son saw them waiting, and nudged her urgently but the witch hushed him furiously and continued regaling the bystanders -via the medium of her husband - the value of her silk gloves and the horror of the french tailor supplying lime instead of fresh green. Growing impatient, his mother cleared her throat meaningfully.

‘Both colours are garish enough to be publicly unsuitable. I’m surprised any tailor conceded to make either.’

The witch’s husband spun so fast that his polished shoes tangled in her skirt and the smooth, impractical soles slipped on the wooden step of the shop. He managed to regain his balance, but not before his wife’s skirts parted from her bodice with the sickening tear and the plink of dropping pearls.

The witch let out a screech that might have been a name and title, or condemnation for her husband but was definitely thick with fear and horror. The Grindelwalds were reclusive, few witches and wizards actually met them in person outside of times of refuge. Blocking the door and having her skirt torn could hardly be the way someone so clearly obsessed with status wanted to meet one of the figurative ruling class.

‘Lady Grindelwald.’ She finally gathered herself enough to deeply curtsy (tearing her skirt more in the process. A brave boy in a grubby shirt braved the area to collect the stones that spilled from her broken, bejewelled belt). ‘We didn’t see you there.’

‘Obviously.’ His mother drawled, sweeping past with an impressive look of derision. Hermione and Gellert hurried close behind her.

It was just as full inside. Rails of cloaks and robes, shelves of skirts, trousers and shirts, piles of hats and gloves. Durmstang crimson and brown filled two walls, the sky blue of Beauxbatons filled the far wall and the stone grey and white of Koldovstoretz on a stand in the middle of the room. There were three stools equidistant across the middle of the room, a young witch attendant tailoring uniforms on each one. A tall, wiry man with a billowing black robe moved like a thunderstorm around the room, gold embroidery flashing like lightning. He noticed them almost immediately, screeching to a halt and somehow managing to convert his almost stumble into a deep, grovelling bow.

‘My Lady, I’m honoured, so honoured to have you in my humble shop.’ Gellert’s lip curled slightly. He had seemed almost quaint in his frantic clumsiness, but his voice was oily and his facial hair was eerily similar to Lucan’s. ‘There were rumours, of course, that your son would be attending Durmstrang this year, honoured, so honoured that you would choose me to cloth him for his first uniform.’

The man somehow managed to grovel backwards as he led them to the Durmstrang wall and Gellert was pleased to note that both witches accompanying him seemed to find the tailor as repulsive as he did. Nonplussed, Alterman began tugging clothing from the wall - shirts that buttoned up the left shoulder, brown trousers and a wide leather belt with the Durmstrang logo stamped on the side. The trousers had a bright red stripe down the leg, which matched the bright red “half-cloak” which was really a jacket. The wide belt went over the jacket and he was toasty warm within minutes. The school must be incredibly cold for a uniform this warm to be necessary. His eyes wandered over to Hermione who was looking at the girl’s uniforms. The young witch was talking earnestly with his mother, and they appeared to be comparing two styles.

Finally, he was fitted with a heavy fur cloak which slung over his left arm and strapped under his right armpit. It left his wand arm free, and combined with the thick fur hat it was stiflingly hot. Noticing that he was finished, Hermione and his mother hurried over... and neither did more than nod approvingly. Hermione told him he looked smart, his mother nodded and paid Alterman. A swish of her hand and his new clothes were folded on the desk and a wave of the shop owners wand had them wrapped. A house elf in Grindelwald livery popped in to take the packages home, and that was that. There was no acknowledgement, no pride in seeing him in uniform, none of the approval he so desperately desired.

Cauldron shopping passed in a haze of miserable acceptance but he trusted Hermione and his mother had managed to pick out suitable options for him. When they emerged from the cramped potioneering shop, having skipped yet another queue, his mother suddenly stopped and observed him critically.

‘I think we should get a wand next.’ She declared and he started. Wands were traditionally the last item on the list to be bought, but he daren’t ask why she had suddenly decided to forsake tradition.

Gregorovitch’s was a dark shop down a secluded alleyway. It was quiet, as most witches and wizards couldn’t afford to have their own wands custom built. Most would go to his larger shop in the main alley and find the closest matching generic wand. They would work, but nothing compared to a custom built wand.

The door opened silently, and they walked cautiously towards the brightly lit bench at the end of the room. The room was thick with magic, so heavy that it felt like they were pushing aside curtains of power as they walked.

The man that sat bowed over the bench was younger than expected, perhaps thirty. He had dark, stubby facial hair to match dark but friendly eyes. He looked up when they entered and nodded as if his expectations had been confirmed.

‘Lady Grindelwald.’ The wandmaker greeted warmly, then his eyes turned to Gellert and Hermione. ‘Your son? Excellent, jump up here then and lets take a look....’

Gellert hopped up onto the stool with nerves tumbling in his stomach. Gregorovitch circled him, poking him and taking measurements with a delicate silver tape measure. The man made several notes on a scrap of parchment, then handed him a strange wand, carved with tiny, intricate runes. It connected with his magic with a strange pull and completely without command began to pour silvery flames which flickered out harmlessly before they hit the floor. Gregorovitch hummed loudly, sounding pleased but unsurprised, then got him to perform certain movements and asked him questions.

Gellert was completely honest, telling the wandmaker that duelling and transfiguration were his best subjects but he really wanted to be good at ritual magic and warding. Gregorovitch made more notes, and drummed his fingers against his brightly lit desk a couple of times.

Gellert jumped as he snapped his fingers and bright witchlights flared to life down the walls. Hermione shrieked, jumping away from the barrels of branches and shelves of wood, then hurried over to look at the other wall with blatant fascination. Tall jars of scales, bunches of feathers in different colours and sleek silver bunches of unicorn hair, green mermaid hair and deep black thestral hair. The wandmaker had Gellert touch several branches and planks; a smooth branch with mottled patches of light and dark wood, a plank of dark wood that could only be ebony, a lighter wood, traced with complex dark veins. There was a slight buzz in his fingers as he passed over what looked like snarl of driftwood -‘Hawthorn, interesting, lets try...’

He couldn’t discern the difference between the buzz for hawthorn, and the buzz for the branch that Gregorovitch eventually chose. He seemed deeply contemplative as they repeated the procedure with the cores - phoenix feather, doxy wings and settling on Augrey feathers.

The wandmaker muttered something about wildness to himself as he took the two ingredients back to his desk and Gellert watched with avid fascination as the wandmaker literally tore a twisted stick from the branch and drilled a hole in it with meticulous precision and a contraption that looked remarkably muggle. He stopped at some unknown mark, then still without using magic once, inserted the feather with a careful accuracy. The soft grey feather squeezed into the space, then the wandmaker quickly trimmed the end and stoppered it with a piece of wood.

He held out the wand for their inspection; it was dark, bark still covering all but the stringy, pale tear when it had once been attached to the branch. Three red thorns poked out along the sides, almost like rose thorns but wickedly sharp. It looked... unfinished, rough, nothing like the beautifully carved and polished wand he was using at the moment. His mother’s too was smooth, unadorned but made from beautifully coloured wood.

‘Oh wow, Gellert. That’s amazing, it looks like a Druid’s wand, you know, like they used in that tapestry of Demetre the Dueller?’ Hermione cooed, her eyes wide as she looked at the instrument, displayed proudly on Gregorovitch’s hands. Gellert did vaguely remember the tapestry, although he’d never paid that much attention to it. Hermione, however, paid avid attention to every detail of their home and he knew she would never lie to him.

‘Very good, Young Lady.’ Gregorovitch smiled at her. ‘The ancient druids were the first to use wands, although theirs were more like staffs. What we use as a core today would have been tied to the exterior of the wand then.’ Then the wandsmith turned back to Gellert who really wasn’t sure whether he liked having such a crude looking instrument as his wand. He fingered the inherited one in his sleeve and wondered if he could get away with using that one instead. Perhaps he could go to Ollivanders and get a different one that suited him, it wouldn’t be as good a match but at least it would be a bit more... fitting.

‘Ah, I see. Unusual for a Grindelwald to pass up power for looks.’ Gregorovitch sounded disappointed as he turned away.

‘Wait!’ Gellert cried and the wandmaker stopped in his tracks, the wand half way to a generic Gregorovitch’s box. ‘I’ll try it.’

With a spring in his step, Gregorovitch bounced back across the room and Gellert took it without hesitation this time. There were no sparks, no fountains of flame, nothing to signify that this wand was his. There didn’t need to be, he knew it, his magic knew it and the wand knew it. Without urging, his magic rushed up his arm and pooled at the tip of the wand, just waiting for instruction. It felt like he was a full barrel of water, the wand was a tap just waiting to open. It was logical, common sense to use the wand. He flicked it, and a spark shot out of the end.

He finally turned his attention to the other people in the room. Hermione looked awestruck, perhaps feeling his magic’s response to the wand through their intimate familiarity with each other. His mother and Gregorovitch both wore proud smiles.

‘Excellent, excellent. A very powerful wand, blackthorn has always been favoured by duellists as a powerful wood and augurey feathers suit those with an inclination towards transfiguration. Often paired with those who show a particular talent for divination - perhaps another subject worth pursuing when you reach second year. Very compatible materials, no need for runes and all that nonsense to stabilise it. You’ll find the bark better grip than a polished finish and those thorns will serve you particularly well if someone tries to catch your wand without care.’ Gellert listened to all of this with avid interest. He’d never considered divination as a subject, but everyone knew it was foolish to disregard the advice of a wandmaker. He was also glad to note that the man was right, the rough bark was grippy, far better in fact than the borrowed wand he had been using and those thorns were razor sharp. Upon surreptitious inspection, his mother didn’t seem as displeased as he had expected she would be at the coarseness of the wand, instead she seemed to glow with pride at the suggestion that he had talent for divination.

Feeling much better, he trailed after his mother out of the shop to finish their shopping.

The book shop was a nightmare. His mother carved a trail straight to the shelf of school book and they gathered the listed texts, turned, and found Hermione missing. His mother heaved a sigh that seemed to ask for a gift of patience, then turned to Gellert.

‘I dearly hope you know what Hermione is reading about at the moment.’

He though back, then shook his head.

‘I couldn’t tell you, she was reading a novel last.’ He replied. His mother rubbed her temples and began carving her way over to the fiction section. It was far emptier than the school books shelf, empty enough that they quickly learned Hermione wasn’t there. He hadn’t really expected her to be, her German was good but she still preferred to read in her native English. There was a very small section of international fiction which also yielded no results. A methodical search of the non-fiction section finally yielded results. They found her in one of the dustiest, emptiest corners, perched on a rickety chair that was hung with cobwebs with a thin, handwritten book held up to a handheld witchlight to read.

‘Hermione!’ He gasped, the witch jumped, then looked up innocently.

‘Look what I found Gellert!’ She hurried up to him eagerly and he noted with some dismay that she must have been moving through the bookshop almost as quickly as them. She levitated a small pile of texts of various sizes. A heavy book with a maroon cover was about the history of Durmstrang, there was a book that was clearly secondhand that looked like potions, at least he hoped it was potions and that was what the stains on the binding were, then there was a book on divination, which he really should have expected and finally, the thin book she still held. His mother made a noise of exaggerated suffering and glanced at her book selection.

His mother then informed him that it was important that he make his staff selection unaccompanied by anyone else, and bustled Hermione off to the Hexenkessel. Gellert entered ‘Wood’s Staves.’ He knew it was owned by the German branch of an English family that historically had always been staff builders, but he’d heard they had fallen on hard times in England. Most witches and wizards didn’t use staffs anymore, and he’d heard that it wasn’t even taught at Hogwarts.

The staff shop was not an ordinary shop. Instead, it was set up like a duelling ring. The floor was sandy, fenced off by thick ropes. Six large, padded posts were driven into the ground and two children were smacking them with long, plain pieces of wood. Each child was supervised by two men that could only be twins. Dark brown hair pulled into identical braids that trailed down the back of identical sets of duelling robes, beards that were carefully trimmed into neat ovals at the bottom and each man leaned on a tall, polished staff. These staffs were nothing like the sticks the two children swung. The top held a metal bracket which cupped a large stone - nothing ridiculous like ruby or emerald, just a highly polished stone orb. The other end, the one driven into the sand was currently invisible, but Gellert knew it would be a heavy, metal spike. The wood was worn but carefully varnished and four leather grips were gleaming with fresh oil at different heights along the weapon.

One of the men looked up at the door chime and pointed Gellert to a chair up against the wall. He sat obediently. Perhaps his mother would have preferred him to assert the Grindelwald name but he’d almost passed up his wand trying to please his mother and the way Hermione acted made him wonder if he’d gotten what his mother wanted to see completely wrong.

More than ten minutes passed. He watched as one of the twins stopped his charge from whacking the post and made his way over to a door at the far end of the arena. The boy followed him, then re-emerged a couple of minutes later with a package slightly longer than he was tall and a wide grin on his face. The now free man gestured him over.

Gellert made his way across the sandy floor, highly aware that he was being scrutinised. He drew to a stop and the man continued to observe him in silence. His mother often looked at him in the same way and he stood perfectly still.

The man sighed heavily.

‘One of the old family children, I assume.’

‘Yes, Grindelwald.’ Gellert confirmed with a quick nod. The man’s eyes did widen slightly and he glanced back down at the clothing he wore.

‘You all stand the same, like you can’t decide if you want to own the place or hide from it.’ He assessed, circling Gellert. The young wizard stood stiffly, pretty sure he and every old family had just been insulted. ‘Have you been injured recently?’ The man demanded.

‘Yes, I broke both legs.’

‘Both? Did a healer see them?’

‘She had to vanish them. I healed them myself, didn’t know it was a...’ he paused, trying to remember the medical term. ‘The situation didn’t allow for a healer to see them at first.’

The man shook his head. ‘Archaic, the way they raise children here.’

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, he was immensely grateful when the man handed him a long wooden stick and told him to hit the pole. He was given no more guidance than that. He grasped the stick like he used to hold a sword in his fencing lessons, figuring many of the same concepts must apply. With his wrist flexible and his fingers holding the weapon lightly, he swung the stick, twisting up from his ankles and through his waist to deliver as much power as possible to the post. The stick cracked against the wood, his body easily absorbing the impact.

‘You’ve been taught to use a sword.’ The man commented. ‘Nice, flexible body and hold, good direction of power. You just can’t replicate that in people who learn later in life. Now, we just sell the plain stave to first years. You can come back in fifth year to get one with a stone if you want to take sorcery or advanced duelling.’

Gellert nodded and followed him into the small room through the back door. On closer inspection the room was actually reasonably big but floor to ceiling stacks of shelves ran along both walls and took a healthy twelve feet of the width. Most of the shelves were filled with long wooden poles but the far section was filled with large drawers. He assumed that was where they kept the stones.

‘Now, you’re nice and flexible, so we’re not restricted. Now, lets see, you’re certainly aggressive and powerful, I would give you ebony if I didn’t think you were planning to take up sorcery at some point. Ebony wouldn’t mix with your magic though, so perhaps Hawthorn would suit better... unless you do plan to just use it to hit things?’

Gellert shook his head quickly and the man rummaged though the staves stacked on the rack above a label that read ‘hawthorn’. He pulled out several, leaning them up against the shelf, then made an interested noise and pulled out another, standing it up next to Gellert.

‘It’s a little tall for you, but you’ll grow into it. You’ll like the shade of the wrappings too.’ The staff was very pale with a single blood red vein running the length on one side. The leather was so close to Grindelwald blue that only someone who had grown up surrounded by the colour would be able to tell the difference. He did like it. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface and lifted it, it was surprisingly heavy but when he held the middle handle, perfectly balanced so that it suddenly became far lighter.

Grinning happily, he handed the man some money and almost skipped from the room. He found Hermione and his mother already at the Hexenkessel. The Tunningers sat at the same table, the adults discussing something in low voices whilst Berg showed off his new wand to Hermione. Alice was flicking through Hermione’s new divination book and comparing it to her own set book for school.

He grinned happily and slid in beside them.


	26. Family

The summer solstice was a very special event for Hermione. Not only was it another one of the annual celebrations that she would be attending, it was also the day that Lady Grindelwald had chosen to incorporate her into the family. The matriarch had spent the last week preparing her, and Gellert had been excused from lessons to lecture her in the customs and words that she must speak.

On the morning of the big day, she woke to find three elves waiting for her. The head elf; Klein, her personal elf; Flighty and a middle aged female elf that she didn’t know. They dressed her in silence in light, white robes that drifted around her ankles. The whole assemble was fastened by a single ribbon that wound around her waist and shoulders and it took all three elves to force her hair to fall in waves down her back.

They then led her down the stairs to where Katana was already saddled. Gellert was mounted on Kelpie in Grindelwald blue and his mother rode her Granian in a matching dress, also secured with a single ribbon.

They rode down the lawns, past the grottos and stables, down through the paddock and out through the back gates. They followed the track along the top of the hill, but several hundred meters before the portal, they turned left and down a steep track. It was overgrown and tangled with wild thorn bushes. They dismounted as the track steepened and continued on foot, Hermione struggling to keep her loose white dress from getting dirtied on the ground as she clung onto roots and rocks to keep her balance.

The sound of rushing water met her ears and a moment later the path stopped descending and began instead to wind along the top of a gorge. It became slightly easier to follow, ascending between trees glowing with bright leaves and the sweet summer dew. The sun glittered, reflecting off the rushing water and casting silvery ghostlike ripples across the mossy dark stone that towered above the crystalline stream.

The earthy path stopped at a set of worn, damp stairs that were carved into the wall of the gorge. Silver haired fairies waved to them as they climbed down, the thunder of a waterfall making anything more impossible, then, walking right along the banks of the stream, they turned a corner into the most magical place Hermione had ever seen.

The waterfall was two or three stories tall, thundering from above and misting rainbows through the air before plunging into a dark pool. Ferns and moss draped the rocky walls in a tapestry of green, speckled with little white flowers. The pool was ringed with dark boulders that glittered slightly with some crystalline residue and sparkled almost as brightly as the clusters of fairy eggs that glittered on ledges all around them.

Hermione and the two Grindelwalds took off their shoes on the beach, leaving pieces of soft, sugary bread as an offering to stop the fairies stealing them, then waded into the pool. The water was bitterly cold despite it being mid summer and goose bumps instantly sprung out over her whole body. Her light, white dress tangled around her legs and was swept backwards by the surprisingly strong current. Gellert offered his arm and she took it, both of them wading after Lady Grindelwald towards the waterfall.

The water didn’t get higher than their waists, but it was such hard work fighting against it to reach the waterfall that they were both warm when Lady Grindelwald disappeared into the waterfall ahead of them. Hermione swallowed and followed, the water pummelling painfully against her head and almost driving her to the ground. A moment later the light faded and the pounding stopped. She opened her eyes, blinking to adjust, but couldn’t see further than a couple of meters. Behind her, the water formed a thundering curtain between them and the outside world. Gellert tugged her hand, pulling her up a gentle slope and deeper into the cave. The light from outside faded, but glowing markings on the wall began to light the way.

The drawings covered every vertical surface and a significant portion of the floor. They were like cave drawings - crude dragons and figures casting magic. Four legged creatures that really could have been anything being ridden by winged people. Runes, squiggles that might have been a map, a skull, a bird, more squiggles that might have been water. Lit by the glowing blue images, Hermione could see they were in a narrow tunnel which climbed gently. Stalactites and stalagmites speared the air like dark swords and a smooth, well worn path wound between them. Lady Grindelwald’s dark silhouette moved ahead of them, her soft footsteps echoing with theirs as the waterfall faded behind them.

The tunnel yawned suddenly into a massive cave whose walls glowed an eerie blue, more dense with markings than anywhere else in the cave. Lady Grindelwald stood in the middle on a large slab of rock, just before the floor tumbled away in an untidy mess of boulders. The boulders too glowed blue with markings, but Hermione couldn’t look at them more closely.

Lady Grindelwald beckoned her closer. Gellert hovered at the back edge of the slab.

Hermione knelt at Lady Grindelwald’s feet, the stone gritty and biting at her knees through the sodden fabric of her dress.

‘Lady Katerina, Matriarch of House Grindelwald. I am Hermione, a witch with no house to call my own. Should you take me in, I swear to be an asset to House Grindelwald, to adhere to your values and to bring glory to the name.’ She recited the words, carefully enunciating the German and making sure she had this important ritual absolutely perfect.

‘The house will have you, bring us strength.’

Lady Grindelwald passed her an athame, already glittering with her blood. Hermione cut her own hand, wincing as the sharp blade sliced her skin. They both held their bleeding hands over a slight depression in the rock and allowed their blood to mingle, pitch black in the dim cave.

‘As our blood mixes here, let it flow in you. Become my daughter in name and magic.’ Lady Grindelwald intoned.

‘Esto Perpetua.’ The three of them murmured. The mixed blood in the bowl sank into the stone slab which glowed slightly, casting them in a ghostly light. Then Lady Grindelwald told her to rise, and Hermione rose obediently. She followed the older witch, stepping off the stone slab and down the difficult descent behind it.

She realised suddenly that the markings that lit the wall were handprints - hundreds, thousands of prints, every one different in size and shape. They crammed every spot, the walls, the ceiling and the boulders, lighting the room with a soft glow. Each hand was edged in angular runes. Once of twice they passed one that was darkened, the glow dimmed by a smear of some unknown substance.

Lady Grindelwald stopped at the end of the light. The cavern reached further but was plunged into inky darkness. The handprints had stopped. Her attention was drawn to two of the brightest prints, which glowed brighter than every one near them and seemed to pulse to some mighty heartbeat. She stepped forwards, raising her bloodied hand and pressing it against the wall.

A shock of electricity jolted through her hand, pulsing like that heartbeat. Around her the cave seemed to stir to life. Silvery apparitions appeared - knights in armour, witches in robes, a roman soldier, a bearded Druid, a viking, a cavewoman, a noble lady in a conical hat. The ghosts of the family crammed every space, one for every print in the huge room. With a roar like the waterfall outside, a hundred voices welcomed her to the family. The stone under her hand glowed brightly blue and when she pulled her hand away, the shape remained, glowing next to the countless others.

‘I am Hermione, of house Grindelwald.’ She informed the ghosts. Again, hundreds of voiced greeted her. They spoke different languages - Latin, Gothic, German. The roar was indecipherable but welcoming and she felt the warmth of the family magic pulsing up from the rock beneath her feet and filling her with it’s power. It was dark and wild, ancient beyond belief. Her own magic melded with it, adding to it and was added to in return.

Gellert and his mother embraced her and as they walked back up through the cave the ghosts reached out and brushed her shoulders and arms.

It was done. She was a part of a magical family, a heritage more ancient that anything that remained. It was older than the castle, older than stone henge, centuries of Grindelwalds had come to this place and joined their magic with it’s.

They made their way slowly up the cavern, the whispering of the ghosts following them.

They stepped back through the waterfall and Hermione gasped. The walls of the gorge were lined with fairies, all of whom held a blue flower. As they waded through the water, the fairies flew over and dropped their flowers, which rained down around them and spotted the water. One particularly bold fairy tucked one of the flowers into her hair and Hermione smiled at it.

When they reached the shore, Gellert embraced her warmly, bouncing slightly on his toes. This one was far warmer and more meaningful than the one in the cave, and he pulled back and grinned at her.

‘Welcome to the family, Hermione.’ He said.


	27. School

The end of the summer came quickly and before he knew it he was saddling Kelpie with his trunk packed and shrunken in his pocket. Hermione helped him, tears already shining in her eyes despite her valiant attempts to hide them.

‘I’m going to miss you, Gellert.’ She told him as she brushed his mount’s mane smooth. She was planning to ride with him to the portal and Longma already stood saddled. His mother too had one of her Granians ready and she tapped her shoe against the cobbles meaningfully. Obediently the two children scrambled onto their mounts.

He felt rather impressive, if a little too warm in his brand new uniform. His cloak hung heavy over his left arm and his staff was slotted into the special holster on Kelpie’s saddle. His new wand was holstered on the belt with it’s Durmstrang logo gleaming in the summer sunlight. It was late afternoon, and the air rippled with warmth. Their mounts hooves clopped against the baked soil as they trotted down the to the back gate and the track that led up to the portal.

The journey was pleasant. Kelpie didn’t much like the heat and the cooling charms on his harness helped to keep Gellert cool too. Hermione wore a very light dress and a wide straw hat and she looked very pretty, her cheeks flushed with warmth. She was tanned, much to his mother’s consternation, but she carried the colour well and was never burned. His own skin was slightly darker that was entirely proper because Hermione had really taken to gardening with the elves and he felt obliged to supervise and attempt to avert the inevitable disaster. If she really was fey, she definitely disproved the rumours of their affinity with nature; her ability to create carnage from simple situations was unrivalled.

A hinderbeast watched them pass, his massive maw sticky with honey. He shook his head sharply to shake off the bees that tried to rescue the fruits of their labour and grunted at them warningly when the track took them too close to him. Hermione’s Longma rumbled deep within its chest and Hermione soothed him gently.

He couldn’t wait to get to school, but he was a little disappointed to see that he wouldn’t be learning much this year. He had read through all his set books from cover to cover before school had started. There were a couple of new spells but none of them were particularly difficult, Hermione could perform all the charms wandlessly and wordlessly, although she hadn’t yet committed all the incantations to memory. He had found the transfigurations easy, so long as he had used the incantation. With his new wand and the magic words, he hardly needed to focus or even direct his magic at all. It was all too easy.

Ancient Magic was fascinating though and he couldn’t wait to learn it. They had spent hours inside the ring of stones, studying the ancient spells that made the portal system work and unsuccessfully trying to figure out what ‘the unknown factor’ that was mentioned in the book was. It was a fascinating concept; that they had somehow lost some process that made all these ancient magics work.

They reached the portal quickly, lost in thought as he was. Hermione was definitely crying now and even his mother looked slightly emotional as she looked down at him from her mount’s back.

‘You’ll do great, Gellert.’ Hermione told him tremulously, sniffing slightly.

‘Yeah, you keep studying.’ Gellert added, feeling slightly awkward as his mother opened the portal.

‘Owl me?’ Asked Hermione.

‘Of course.’

The portal opened with a hum, buzzing a touch louder than the bees.

‘Do us proud, Gellert.’ His mother said firmly. He nodded and before he could do anything embarrassing, urged Kelpie through the silvery gate to the world beyond.

One minute he was in the balmy sunlight of his home, the next he was being battered by a howling gale and lashed by torrential rain. He squinted his eyes, pulling his new cloak around his shoulders and tried to see more of where he had appeared.

He was in another ring of stones, but these stones were dwarfed by massive pines. The ground was muddy and Kelpie struggled to wade his way out of the ring. A ghostly animal, some kind of cat hovered at eye-level. As he approached it whipped away, trotting until it was almost out of eyesight. He followed quickly and almost toppled from Kelpie’s back as they emerged from the shelter of the trees and he was buffeted for the side. He hunched lower until his collar shielded his face and tried to see where the little animal had gone. Eventually he spotted it, further away from the trees again. He was at the top of a long ridge, he could see it stretching out before him and he could see the ground falling away to the left. He couldn’t look to the right, the rain dug painfully into his expose skin on that side and he was forced to shut his right eye.

He was glad when he finally reached the castle. He almost didn’t notice it, the windows were all small and barely let out any light. The building was squat and dark, nothing like Blau Berg and there were no impressive walls or towering gates. The spirit that had been leading him melted away and a moment later a squeaky voice greeted him from somewhere near his ankles, only audible because the bulk of the castle was blocking the worst of the wind. He glanced down and saw an elf bundled up in what looked like an old quilt.

‘I is taking your beast.’ The elf repeated firmly. Gellert nodded, swinging off his mount and landing with a squelch in deep mud that had been stirred up by many hooves. He could see the door - an archway of light in the rain. As he got closer he could see the walls were made of rough hewn dark stone, huge slabs bigger than he was tall. He made his way up the short flight of stairs quickly, keen to get out of the rain and passed through a very thick set of doors. Again they weren’t large or impressive and the hall beyond wasn’t either. Instead, it seemed sturdy and solid which was reassuring against the howling gale outside. He wondered, if this was summer weather, what was winter like.

‘First year?’ A woman asked, her Bulgarian accent heavy. She was tall, silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. She waved her wand over him, magically drying his sodden clothes and he smoothed his hair back into order.

‘Yes Ma’am.’ He replied. She smiled and welcomed him to the school, took his trunk, then directed him down the hall and to the first room on the left. He followed her directions, passing beneath flaming torches and taking the specified door.

A whispering greeted him when he entered the room. Nervous children stood in huddles around the room, sharing glances and shyly chatting with their friends. It was quiet; nobody was quite confident enough to draw attention to themselves yet. There was a massive variety of students, all speaking different languages. He recognised a lot of them but only spoke a few, and those he only spoke a little. Hermione had picked up German incredibly quickly, and the more German she had learned, the less they spoke English. His other languages were not even that fortunate - Bulgarian, Russian and Swedish were the ones he recognised.

He spotted Berg waving frantically in the corner of the room. He stood next to Petrovna who was chattering to a pair of boys in Russian. He was reasonably certain they were children of the Russian coven and that he’d seen them before at some event.

‘Petrovna, Berg.’ He greeted solemnly, and his two friends returned the greeting. He was introduced to the two Russian boys and his suspicion was confirmed. They were indeed children of the Russian coven, and they were introduced as Petar and Aleksandr. They nodded at his name, then went back to chattering in Russian as Gellert listened, attempting to catch at least some of the conversation.

The Hawdon twins were the next to arrive and he greeted them with a nod. They weren’t close, their family had never had quite the same traditional beliefs as Gellert’s despite being an old family. They seemed to have more in common with the British families than the Europeans. He suspected they even subscribed to that funny pureblood doctrine. They certainly never seemed to broaden their bloodlines.

Mareike came much later, her thick hair escaping from its neat braids and smeared with mud. She looked incredibly annoyed.

‘My Granian fell. That track is lethal.’ She hissed in annoyance. Gellert agreed, he certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be riding a winged mount through that weather.

‘Alice says the grounds are amazing.’ Berg admitted and Gellert snorted.

‘They looked miserable.’

‘How’s Hermione?’ Mareike asked.

‘Back home with mother. She seems okay, she’s been bribed with more lessons with my mother.’

‘I still don’t understand how she gets on so well with your mother, she’s terrifying.’ Mareike shivered. Hermione did get on very well with his mother and unequivocally hated every tutor they had ever had. With Gellert’s absence, she would now be learning primarily with his mother and studying alone at other times.

‘Hermione’s terrifying.’ Berg pointed out. ‘She’s crazy powerful, she’s only eight isn’t she?’

‘Nine now.’ Gellert corrected. There was silence as the three of them considered that. She really was very young. ‘You should have seen what she did to Lucan’s inferi; torched half the track.’

Any reply was silenced as a short, rounded wizard shot sparks into the air. The conversation dieddown as every eye turned to him. He was red headed and wore a set of dark duelling robes, trimmed with a crimson that clashed painfully with his hair. He had a little nose like a pinkie finger sticking out from atop a fluffy moustache.

‘I am Master Holm, your head of year. Welcome to Durmstrang.’ He greeted in the students. He spoke slowly so that those who were still learning German could understand him. ‘If you have any worries, please come to me.’ He paused, looking around them in a way that suggested anyone that disturbed him with problems would find them rapidly multiplying.

‘I will now show you to your tower. Please follow me.’

They all followed him in a huddle, stringing out slightly as they bottlenecked through the doorway. They went out into the corridor and followed it to a T-junction. They took the right turn, then found themselves at the beginning of a gently spiralling staircase going upwards to the left, downwards to the right and a heavy door in front.

‘In there is the first year common room, down on the right are the classrooms. Please follow me to the dormitories.’ The followed him up the spiral stairs upwards, but only went up one floor before they reached a short landing with another doorway. This room was assigned to a group of just over twenty boys and they were left to find their own way inside as the rest of them went up another floor. This was a girl’s dormitory, and seventeen girls, including Mareike and Petrovna were assigned this room.

Gellert was put on the third floor with the rest of the boys and he entered the room curiously. It was windowless, lit by flaming torches. There was a central column in the middle of the room, a door leading into it, and one of the other boys loudly declared that it was the bathroom after peering through the door. Four poster beds ringed both the outside wall and the bathroom wall, sticking out at the foot like teeth. The hangings were all red, and the sheets and blankets were brown and looked coarse but warm.

Gellert’s bed was all the way around the room. His owl was already waiting, perched on a stand and his trunk had been enlarged at the foot of the bed. Berg was two bunks down, and the boy next to him was called Hugo Olofsson, which was a name he didn’t recognise and by the state of his battered trunk, not one he really needed to. Berg was several beds away and he had one of the Hawdons next to him. Berg waved, already unpacking his trunk into the shelves.

He tapped his wand against the lock of his own trunk and began unpacking it as well, putting books and parchment on the shelves and hanging his cloak and jackets on the hooks.

Hugo appeared and did the same next to him. He was a small boy, his uniform clearly second hand with the exception of his cloak, which was crisp and new. His brown hair was exactly the same colour as his uniform and his eyes eyebrows were unusually thick and heavy.

His other side had Hugo’s polar opposite. Viktor Krum, who was big and burly, perhaps a little over fed. His belongings were as new as Gellert’s, and he was already flinging them unfolded onto the shelves.

He had only managed to unpack half his trunk when Master Holm reappeared, a gaggle of girls at his back and bellowed at them to follow him. They did, and were led down to what had been introduced at the common room earlier. Again, he noticed there was no fireplace or windows. A curved wooden table ran around the outside of the room, and another wrapped the central wall.

They were curtly informed that this room was where they would take their meals, and where they could study after lessons. They were also informed in no uncertain terms that the circular central room was warded for practicing magic, and if they were not confident using a spell, it was not to be performed in the common room. Finally, Master Holm left and an elf came in, wheeling a trolley taller than it was laden with plates and cutlery. A second elf wheeled in a trolley filled with food and they all queued up (under threat of whacking with ladles for disorderly behaviour).

The food was not the extravagant meals he was used to with multiple dishes and options but when he dipped his finger into the stew it tasted wonderful and the smell was spectacular. Carefully carrying his bowl and with cutlery and bread carefully balanced in his other hand. He found one of the many three legged stools shoved under the circular table and pulled it out, then sat to enjoy his meal. Complex it may not have been but it was still fantastic and he was starving.

The elves had them put their empty plates away on the trolley and then they were left alone, with no supervision. Berg came over, pulling out a stool and sitting next to him.

‘What do you think?’ The boy asked, looking over to where there were a group of girls chattering in low voices.

‘I’m not sure. There doesn’t seem like much privacy.’ Gellert frowned.

‘Lessons will be good though, right?’

‘Sure. I should write to Hermione, tell her what its like.’

‘Why not wait until after classes tomorrow. She’d be more interested about that. You’ve barely seen more than the entrance hall so far.’ Pointed out Berg.

‘Good point. I might head up and finish unpacking now though. Who knows how early they’ll have us up tomorrow.’


	28. France

With Gellert gone and the matter of her education taking place at Hogwarts, her matriarch had taken it upon herself to round out what she considered to be the incomplete education the British school offered. Her previous lessons of dancing, broomstick flying, deportment and manners had all been brushed aside as unimportant and she was now beginning an intensive sword fighting course to prepare her to start duelling next summer. Every morning she spent two hours with Master Brig, learning to fight with a huge variety of swords and knives and bows and otherwise muggle weapons. She was then allowed half an hour to freshen up before she had to begin her study of ancient magic, supervised by an elf. She was usually assigned a book to read and had to summarise the key points to submit to Lady Grindelwald.

In the afternoons she took occlumency and ethics with Lady Grindelwald, both lessons usually melding into one as the older witch assaulted her mind mid way through complex discussions of what scenarios dark magic could be acceptable in.

She enjoyed her lessons, but she really missed Gellert and he’d only been at Durmstrang for a week. She hung onto his letters and sent veritable essays back in return. He’d described the castle to her - dark and squat with very few windows and no privacy. His lessons seemed a little dull and elementary, but he claimed the library was good and the grounds were wonderful. He described wild forests and mountain peaks with complex trails they could ride their mounts along. He said there was still snow in some places, despite it being nearly summer and that it was light until half past eleven!

She would have killed to visit him and see the castle, with its many students and fascinating teachers.

She would see him for Harvest though.

It had been the day after he left that she’d been called to Lady Grindelwald’s study and informed that she would be Sun for the harvest ritual this year. Her matriarch had been delighted, suggesting that Hermione was perhaps the youngest channel ever, at the tender age of ten. Hermione had been terrified.

Then, Anneken had swept in like an angel. The older witch had graduated now, and she turned up in a set of bottle green robes to match the impressive emerald adorned athame sheathed at her side. Hermione grinned and congratulated her - she knew from her etiquette lessons that a woman carrying a sheath with an athame in it meant she was formally engaged.

Anneken had taken one look at the dress Lady Grindelwald wanted made for Hermione and announced that that would not do. So Anneken took them to Paris to get a different one.

They all dressed in their best for the occasion and Hermione wore the lapis lazuli combs she’d been given to represent her family allegiance. It was the first real piece of jewellery that she’d ever owned and it was worthy of a queen. A silver cockatrice fought an exquisite dragon for the large polished stone at the centre of the piece. The two older witches had spent several minutes fussing and arranging her hair to show it off best.

There was a large blue and silver carriage waiting in the courtyard when they emerged, drawn by four of the huge black sleipnir. It had four lacquered wooden wheels and Hermione just knew it would be incredibly bumpy and uncomfortable. There couldn’t be much space inside, and she almost dreaded taking the seat opposite Lady Grindelwald’s wide skirts.

Except it had completely different dimensions inside to outside. She had to duck through the low doorway, then emerged into a luxurious living room, decorated in blue and silver to match the outside of the carriage. There were delicate settees and chaise, polished coffee tables and bookshelves lit by silver candelabra. There was a restroom through the door to the left complete with hot running water and a luxurious bath. When she remembered the other two women were already delicately seated and an elf was serving tea and cakes. She only realised they were moving when she saw the scenery whizzing past the window.

They travelled for several hours and the two women took it as an opportunity for Hermione to practice channeling their magic. She was very used to Gellert’s magic, having worked with it and channelled it almost as much as her own, his was dark and familiar, cooling a white heat she didn’t even know her magic had. Anneken’s was smooth and sinuous, like a snake or water and Lady Grindelwald’s was icy cold, colder than Gellert’s; sharp and clear like ice. Anneken’s was easy to control, willing to do as she bade. Lady Grindelwald’s kept spiking out in odd directions and causing unexpected side effects, usually bangs and flashes.

They stopped in a gentle woodland in the late evening, taking a gentle stroll around the carriage to stretch their legs. The plan was to spend the night in the carriage, and Hermione had been sceptical at the image of Lady Grindelwald roughing it on the couch. Of course, she should have known that at two taps with a wand on the door would turn it into a double suite of rooms with four poster beds and a full size wardrobes; the spare clothes they had brought already unpacked.

When Hermione reappeared the next day, they had arrived in Paris. The carriage was stopped in a cobbled courtyard, a piece of scrolling metalwork above their heads announcing that they were at the “Hotel De Ginestou”. There were two other carriages in the courtyard with them - one rather severe and black with small, barred windows and another decorated in crimson and gold flowers and carved lambs.

They went to a little Café for breakfast and ate soft, fluffy croissant and light, crisp french bread unlike anything she’d ever eaten in the past. There was a slightly runny jam packed with fruit and creamy fresh butter. Lady Grindelwald glowered at everything suspiciously - from the brown robed man reading the newspaper at the other table to the two wizards who were setting up their apothecary display across the street. She too had a copy of the paper, which had been delivered along with a formal looking card that morning, before Hermione arrived.

After breakfast, Anneken took them to “Maison Capenoir” which was only a couple of buildings down the street. Hermione was both amazed and delighted to find that the shop had little in common with both wizarding clothes shops that she’d visited in the Unterhalb. Maison Capenoir flashed with the rainbow light of hundreds of gems and beads, sewn into shining silk, glittering gold thread and airy lace. A small man with a midnight blue set of robes bowed them in and thanked them for their appointment. What they were looking for must already have been explained, because they were quickly taken into a more private back room where a rail of golden dresses awaited them. They were all roughly Hermione’s size, and none of them were anything like what Lady Grindelwald had drawn up.

It took all of thirty seconds for the Grindelwald matriarch to toss more than half of the dresses aside, declaring them unsuitable, silly or obscene. Hermione had to admit that even she found some of the dresses more than a little silly - there were bows and ruffles, painful looking corsets and dripping jewels. Some dresses had enchantments to make them warmer or cooler, lighter or make them float in a particular way. Anneken seemed to find the whole occasion incredibly amusing, but even she slipped out when the attendant, looking more than a little offended, tried toadvise the fearsome Lady on modern girl’s fashion and was treated to a lengthy lecture on the presentation of women in rituals.

As the small man cowered beneath her fury, Hermione picked out a dress for herself. She had decided to go with something that would keep both women happy - all white, because she wouldn’t bloom for several years, gold enough to make sure everyone knew that she was the sun, but not so flashy that it was ostentatious, simple and elegant but not revealing... the list of requirements was extensive. Fortunately she found one - it was mostly white, body hugging at the top and puffed out with petticoats around her skirts. The embroidery was exquisite, reaching up from the ankle height hems but finishing before it could become too extensive to be suitable for a child. She couldn’t see how anyone could complain.

And nobody did. Anneken had a couple of robes for herself draped over her arm, Lady Grindelwald had frightened the attendant to tears and then the manager had arrived, apologising profusely for his staff’s lack of respect for traditional magic and the the Matriarch was rather pleased with the beaded grey hat she’d been given as an apology.

Of course, a family of such standing as the Grindelwald’s couldn’t visit another country unnoticed. The card from breakfast turned out to be a formal invitation for dinner with the Delacour Family, whom Hermione had met at the Yule ball.

She had expected to see a chateau, perhaps something like the Disney castle or at least a large manor like the palace of Versailles. Instead, their carriage trotted down a long dirt driveway, splashing through deep puddles and bouncing over tree roots. They arrived at a farmhouse. It was medium sized, perhaps what one would expect of a successful farmer but certainly not one of the ruling French families. Their house was nestled between a paddock of remarkably normal looking horses and a field full of very hairy cattle. A generous barn hulked against the skyline like a giant rat, the winding dirt road that led to it like a great tail.

The walls of the house were freshly washed white, tarred black beams starkly outlining the small windows. Irregular glass panes twinkled with the light of the setting sun and the windows were open, allowing music to drift out.

The inside was dark, with heavy looking wood panels that seemed to suck all the light from the candles before it could reach the flagstone floor. Lady Delacour greeted them, adorned in a baby blue silk dress with a bulbous skirt that had to be squeezed to fit through the narrow doorway she led them through.

The drawing room they were led into was large... unusually large for such a modest building. It stretched out, long and low towards a hearty fire. Lamps and candles lit the intermediary space and lit carved wooden chairs grouped into huddles around knee high tables. The small windows were pinpricks against the light absorbing panelled wall and the other wall was thickly lined with books on a floor to ceiling bookshelf.

There were nine people already waiting, which suggested that they were the last to arrive. She recognised Monsieur Delacour in his sharp suit and coiled moustache. His son was virtually a mirror image, and he had an ethereal woman on his arm; dressed in silver, which matched her silver waterfall of hair, she glowed with inhuman beauty.

The eyes of two young men seemed glued to her, much to the annoyance of the women at their arms. Both were strapping, also dressed in black dinner jackets, one was shorter than the woman on her elbow, although if she had any sense she wouldn’t have worn such towering heels. The final guest was probably their grandmother, if the age and family resemblance was anything to go by.

They were introduced; the three younger men were Delacours; William, who was the one with the silver haired woman, had just come back from Bulgaria. Samuel and Frederick were Monsieur Delacour’s nephews and were visiting for summer. They would be returning for their last year of Beauxbatons in a matter of days. Eloise was the grandmother, and she was a grouchy woman who vocally disapproved of Gabriella, the Veela woman that William had brought home with him.

Dinner was announced, and Monsieur Delacour led Lady Grindelwald to the table on his arm. His son took Madame Delacour and the others took their own spouses, eventually the four remaining women, including Hermione, followed in behind them.

The dining room was also much larger than one would expect in a farmhouse. A large chandelier lit a long table with a crisp white table cloth. Rosy pink cards were the only touch of warmth against the cold silver of the plates and cutlery. Hermione found her own name, printed in beautiful script that rippled slightly over the embossed Delacour crest.

Dinner was unbelievable - they started with a bowl of soup, followed by oysters and little fish on crispy discs of bread, then there was clams and mussels in a rich butter sauce, glazed figs wrapped in wafer thin cured meat, olives and little squares of white cheese on sticks. There was a long break, where Lady Grindelwald and Monsieur Delacour discussed politics - ‘Your ministry insists on making it difficult for my people to trade cauldrons.’

Then there was a glistening baked fish, no less than three, all longer than her arm and dished of crispy potatoes, salads, steamed carrots and beans. When Hermione was convinced she could eat no more, the most spectacular desserts were brought out. The pride of place was a wobbling tower of pasty poufs, carried by three elves but there was also sponge decorated with cream and strawberries, tarts with peaches arranged like sun rays. Then came yet another course of frozen berries over thick ice cream and finally the meal was over.

Hermione was surprised she could stand to drag herself back to the drawing room and was slightly appalled to see that the tall lady in heels had to be supported heavily by the nephew who’d brought her. The adults, as she was inclined to call Lady Grindelwald and Madame and Monsieur Delacour sat near the fire to continue talking business - ‘You know our family has never taken a frontal role in leadership in our country, I can only make suggestions.’

As the only child, Hermione was excused to the carriage and was more than glad to leave the company of the French family.

It wasn’t until she woke up back in her English room that Hermione realised she had somehow woken in the carriage. She had assumed she always appeared in her room in Grindelwald castle, seeing as no matter where she disappeared she always reappeared there. Appearing in a carriage in France was another matter entirely.


	29. Challenge

Gellert had been waiting for this moment all week. He hurried with Berg down to the main gates, past many other students who were also dressed in finery to celebrate the occasion. They heard the roars, whinnies and screeches of the many mounts held by elves in the courtyard long before they passed through the doors. He wore the deep brown robes that had been sent by his mother, with spiky embroidery around the sleeves and hem. He wondered what Hermione was wearing.

The courtyard was as muddy as ever and they hitched their robes and cloaks up to their waists as they squelched their way towards their mounts. Gellert had always been rather wary of Berg’s hippogriff with its long curved talons and beak but on this occasion it looked even more terrifying than usual. The beast clearly disliked the mud even more than they did, beating its wings and spraying mud over everything in the vicinity and snapping at the poor elf that held it. Alice was already there, a neat charm deflecting the mud that her brother’s hippogriff was spraying.

She waved to them and they sloshed in her direction. Her grey hippogriff had always been friendlier than Berg’s chestnut and Gellert petted its beak as Berg struggled to get his to stand still enough to bow.

They had to leave the castle with Berg on foot, but once they were out on the wild lawns of the castle the issue was resolved quickly enough.The ridge top path was truly spectacular when the weather was good, but perpetually windy. The pine forest rolled down the smooth hill to their right, down to the base of the valley before a craggy cliff rose out to form the opposite mountain. To their left the land plummeted away into a deep, icy cold fjord that their duelling teacher made them swim in every lesson. The mountain that the castle was built on towered above them but never shadowed the grounds. The school itself was a squat, dense building that burrowed into the mountain, a large part of it subterranean and the part above ground reaching four floors at its highest.

Gellert spent hours out here, riding up and down the hills, along the many trails that spiderwebbed the ground. He was not alone. The castle was dark and crowded with no privacy beyond the hangings on their beds. A lot of their lessons were held outside too - duelling with its inevitable swim made use of the varied terrains provided by the landscape. Their magizoology took place under the canopy of the forest with no consideration for the weather, and he imagined towards winter those lessons would become fiendishly cold. For now though, he loved nothing more that riding Kelpie around the grounds, occasionally joined by Berg or one of the girls.

The track to the portal was one of the most well trodden and the three of them splashed their way along the ridge, gently making their way down to the tree line. They passed through the passage in the trees, the path growing even muddier and Alice had to force Berg’s hippogriff along the path by dragging on its reins behind her own mount.

The passage through the trees didn’t last long, they rode for only a couple of minutes before the massive stones reared up around them. It was a much newer ring of stones than the one near Gellert’s home; the stones were still sharply shaped and the runes that crawled around them were etched with perfect clarity. There wasn’t a ring of barrows here either, unlike the one back home. An unfamiliar teacher waited by the portal for them, and they joined a queue of students waiting for the portal to go to their destination.

The Tunninger ritual was only one of the events students attended; the less traditional families attended a huge variety of balls. They were easy to pick out, in opulent dresses, coiffed hair and dripping jewels. In contrast, the traditional families were rather monochromatic; most of the men wore brown or maroon, the girls wore red or white. They were more relaxed though, there was an air of celebration and the thrum of power was already starting to stir in all of them.

Not all the traditional families were wealthy, nor even old. He recognised two brothers from their dorm, both of whom were wearing the most threadbare brown formal robes he’d ever seen. There was no golden embroidery and they’d clearly walked here on foot as they were up to their knees in mud.

He’d noticed them in class before. Jori and Veli, he believed their names were. They were strong and intelligent, but more importantly they had a commitment and hunger to learn that he found inspiring.

He left Berg and Alice struggling to hold the hippogriff still and rode over to the two boys. They looked up as his towering shadow fell over them, but he didn’t dismount. It wasn’t because he was being rude, but because he doubted he could get back up onto Kelpie’s tall back from the muddy ground.

‘Gellert Grindelwald.’ He introduced himself, bending low over Kelpie’s back to offer his hand. The two boys shook it suspiciously, but introduced themselves as well. He had been correct in his guess of their names.

‘I haven’t seen you at the Harvest ritual before.’ He tried, wondering at the almost hostile reception he was receiving.

‘We’ve never been.’ Veli replied sharply, as though that should have been obvious.

‘Oh.’ Gellert replied stupidly. In hindsight, he realised he had never seen pre-school children other than those of the coven at these events. ‘It amazing, you’ll love it. My sister is the sun for her first time tonight.’

‘Where is she?’ Jori asked, looking around with the first hint of enthusiasm in their conversation.

‘She’ll meet us there. Want to come through with me?’ He offered. It was always best to pass through a portal with a mount, the extra mass made the journey much smoother. The two boys would probably be assigned to someone, but Gellert knew that Kelpie was one of the better travelled mounts and less likely to kick at them.

The two boys eyed him, then Veli nodded. He showed them how to hold onto the chest plate, where they wouldn’t hurt Kelpie by mistake and they were finally called over.

They emerged into the much warmer sunlight of the Tunninger’s South Germany home. True to his expectations, Kelpie had kept both his hooves and his teeth to himself. The lightning bolt of silver scales that hit the ground in front of them only moments after they’d regained their balance was though. Katana’s massive wings snapped dust into the air as he seemed to drop out of the sky to land powerfully in front of them.

‘Gellert!’ A voice cried. Hermione’s hair was wind blown, a hooded cloak hanging almost to her mount’s knees and hiding her dress entirely from view.

‘Hermione!’ He called back, manoeuvring Kelpie so that they could embrace lightly. ‘This is Jori and Veli, they’re in my year at school. Jori, Veli, meet my sister; Hermione.’

The young witch turned her warm, beaming smile on the two boys who looked somewhat thunderstruck. They managed to mumble greetings but seemed, like most people were upon meeting her, to be completely speechless. She turned Katana’s head and they set off down the path, walking slowly enough for the two boys to keep pace with them. Hermione told him all about her trip to Paris with his mother and Anneken and how her lessons were going.

‘You’re educated at home?’ Veli suddenly interrupted them. Hermione paused, looking down at him.

‘Yes, my matriarch thinks Hogwarts won’t proved me with an adequate education.’ She replied quickly. ‘She wants to see that I learn as much as possible before I start.’

‘You’re not even at school yet? Gellert said you were going to be the sun?’ Veli said, sounding incredulous. Hermione blushed modestly.

‘I’m very excited.’

They arrived at the pickets, separating briefly to tie up their mounts.

‘Did you bring anything?’ Hermione asked the two boys when she rejoined them on foot. The cloak she wore was so long that it trailed along the ground, and it wrapped around her so thoroughly that he couldn’t see even a little of her dress.

‘Mother said she would meet us at the barrows.’ Veli replied and Hermione nodded, walking in that direction.

The boys’ mother was dressed in clothes as threadbare as her sons and she embraced them warmly. Then she looked up at her son’s friends. Gellert introduced them, deliberately leaving off his family name. He knew the way people tended to react; a mixture of reverence and fear. He doubted his mother would approve, but he wanted to open this door. The two boys were ambitious and hard working and would probably be successful in the future. He needed to start making his own connections. He had been somewhat amazed when Hermione had managed to order raw, untreated acromantula silk and knew he would never have had the ability to do that.

Veli and Jori’s mother was incredibly warm and friendly, wrapping both of them into a bony hug.

‘Alice isn’t very happy.’ Gellert muttered to her. Hermione glanced discretely over his shoulder and her eyebrows furrowed. Alice was glaring in their direction with enough fury to almost smite them where they stood. Hermione looked away quickly. ‘I don’t think she expected you to become sun so quickly.’

‘Has she been terrible to you at school?’ Hermione asked sympathetically, and Gellert had to try not to goggle at her. He had just told her that an older witch was furious with her, and that was the thing that Hermione seemed most concerned about?

Hermione was still looking at him, eyes wide with concern.

‘No... no, I don’t see her.’ He replied quickly. Hermione sagged with relief.

‘You’re not concerned?’ Gellert checked.

‘Well no, she can’t exactly do anything, can she?’ Hermione waved her hand dismissively, the floor length sleeve of her robe billowing and revealing a flash of gold.

‘Well,’ Gellert whispered awkwardly. ‘She sort of can...’ He trailed off as the horn echoed across the field. Veli, Jori and their mother joined them and Gellert had to stop talking. He may want them to be his allies, but he wouldn’t give anyone an inkling of dissent between coven families.

They were joined by Mareike, but Petrovna and her Russian friends remained with Berg. The growing rift unsettled him somewhat, but he really didn’t know what to do about it. Hermione had been chosen by Alice’s parents and it wasn’t Alice’s place to question it, not when the strength and stability of the ritual depended on everyone being in the right places.

With the rest of the coven children missing, the dynamic was very different. Veli and Jori excelled at apple bobbing, but had never done archery or sword fighting. The round of applause as Mareike and Hermione traded lightning blows with each other left a warm glow of pride. It was more fun, there was no competition for him in the archery, so he could relax and he enjoyed teaching the two boys to shoot. Hermione wasn’t able to compete with her voluminous robe, which they both considered a relief - her archery certainly wasn’t up to scratch.

The best part was the pumpkin jinxing. Hermione was like a whirlwind of movement and power, lashing out with both her wand and her empty left hand. She set a high bar, which Gellert was hard pressed to beat, and particularly next to Veli and Jori they both looked very good. He had two turns at that because he enjoyed it so much but everything went somewhat downhill when he turned back to speak to Hermione after a particularly spectacular blasting curse to finish his turn.

She was squared up against Alice Tunninger, or perhaps more accurately, Alice Tunninger was looming over Hermione and the much younger witch was somehow managing to stand tall.

‘... little upstart!’ Alice hissed. Hermione said something in reply, too quietly for him to hear which did nothing to smooth her ire.

‘Is there a problem?’ The elderly wizard that was meant to be supervising the pumpkin jinxing appeared over both witches, wand drawn. Berg appeared, tugging at Alice’s arm insistently. Alice tore out of his grip, glaring mutinously at the older man. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then suddenly her mother was there. Frau Tunninger was rigidly controlled, her face expressionless as she took in her daughter and Hermione. Her eyes flicked briefly to Veli and Jori and their mother.

Alice sneered at her impressively.

‘Yes. I have been training for years to be the sun. This little newbie waltzes in and suddenly you’re giving it to her, instead of your own daughter.’ Alice snapped, arm swinging to point accusingly at Hermione. Frau Tunninger’s expression shifted from blankness to dark fury and she straightened ominously. Gellert had seen that exact movement in his mother and would have started to back away, but Alice straightened up too.

‘You bring shame on our family, Alice. Hermione Grindelwald is the strongest among us, and she must be channel. Your arrogance would risk the success of the ritual.’

‘Stronger than me? She is inexperienced, she barely knows the ritual.’ Alice snapped in reply. A large crowd was forming now. ‘You risk the ritual with a child at the head.’

‘I am ashamed to call you my daughter. You are showing with your actions that you are unsuitable, I suggest you go for a ride. You may rejoin the celebrations after the ritual if you cannot restrain yourself.’ The order was clear in Frau Tunninger’s voice, but Alice was not finished.

‘If she is stronger, make her prove it. A duel.’ Alice snapped. Gasps rippled through the crowd, accompanied by several jeers and the occasional shout of approval. If possible, Frau Tunninger’s countenance darkened even further.

‘You would challenge Hermione to a duel, before she reaches school. I believed you could embarrass us no further’ The hostess hissed. She slashed her wand and Gellert flinched, expecting a curse to hit the disobedient daughter, but instead a silver animal shot from the end. There was a moment of silence, then Lady Grindelwald stepped out of thin air with a crack. Her hand fell heavily onto Gellert’s shoulder and her other gripped her wand.

‘Alice wants to duel Hermione.’ Gellert muttered, not knowing how aware his mother was of the situation. The hand on his shoulder squeezed slightly.

‘Has a formal challenge been issued?’ His mother demanded coldly. The gathered crowd shrank back; Lady Grindelwald was a terrifying figure, dressed head to toe in black and with her magic chilling the air around her.

‘Hermione of no house...’ Alice began, but her mother backhanded her across the cheek before she could continue. The girl’s head snapped sideways and she stumbled a couple of steps, her hand flying up to cup her cheek. Lady Grindelwald levelled the glowing tip of her wand between her eyes.

‘Disrespect my ward again, and you will not live long enough to issue a challenge.’ Gellert’s mother hissed.

‘I suggest you reconsider, Alice. This incident will be forgotten but if you issue a challenge, it will forever stain your honour.’

‘Hermione, ward of the ancient house of Grindelwald. I, Alice, daughter of Eleanor of the ancient house of Tunninger find you to be lacking in power and person. I challenge you to a duel where we shall prove ourselves in the field of fair combat.’ Alice spat. Hermione remained admirably strong and straight faced, seeming unafraid as she stood before the older witch.

‘You are under no obligation to accept, Hermione. You are below school age and there will be no stairs on your honour.’ Lady Tunninger said kindly. Hermione glanced at his mother quickly, then turned back to Alice, her spine straightening even further.

‘Alice, daughter of Eleanor of the ancient house of Tunninger. I, Hermione Granger, ward of the ancient house of Grindelwald accept your challenge. I would name Gellert, son of Frederich of the ancient house of Grindelwald as my second.’ Hermione replied. Her voice was even and calm and Gellert found his heart pounding as he stepped forwards to rest his hand on her shoulder.

‘I name Petrovna...’ but Petrovna was shaking her head already, sinking back into the crowd. Alice stumbled slightly for the first time, then her eyes fixed firmly on Hermione. ‘I need no second. Who would be our warden?’ She called out to the crowd. There was an awkward shuffling, then Herr Lintzen stepped forwards, his expression thunderous.

‘I, Thorberg, son of Sven of the ancient house of Lintzen, would adjudicate.’ He paused as both young witches nodded and reached out their right hands, clamping around each other’s wrist. Herr Lintzen pulled out his wand.

‘I would have you face each other on the morn of Yule, with only your wands and your robes. You shall duel to disarm.’

‘So it shall be.’ Hermione responded instantly. Alice huffed and sneered, but agreed as well. Frau Lintzen tapped their joined wrists with his wand and black liquid flowed form his wand, snaking around their joined wrists then splitting into two and forming a bangle on each of them. With a final repetition of the term, he tapped their wrists again and the bangle solidified into something that looked like gleaming, dark stone.

Hermione had committed to it, and by the expression in Alice’s face, disarming would not be the aim of her duel.


	30. Drums

Shaken, and with all traces of her celebratory mood gone, she went with Lady Grindelwald to the ritual area instead of taking part in any further activities. Gellert had to remain behind, so they didn’t get a chance to discuss the events, but he had squeezed her hand once in reassurance before she left.

The drummers were already waiting; two tall, willowy women with waist length silver hair. They seemed much older than Lady Grindelwald but moved with the vigour of people far younger. Brena and Zulma, they were called, twins from an ancient Albanian family. They were not particularly powerful, but Hermione knew twins held a sacred position in the wizarding world.

They went to where a blanket had been conjured on the grass, a simple meal of heavy, dense bread and a thick, substantial stew laid out for them. The others would be feasting soon, but Hermione had been told the heavy food of a feast would not mix well with the powerful ritual magic. They played cards to pass the time, sitting cross legged on the blanket as the two drummers speculated as to whom she would marry. Several unfamiliar names came up; Malfoy was decided to be of poor complexion and would make ugly children. Not to mention, one of the twins pointed out with a slight giggle, the name did mean “bad faith.”

Several other names came up, only to be tossed away with disdain and frequent giggles. Notts were ugly, Weasleys were poor, Gaunts were weak and Goyles were stupid. The Blacks garnered some approving reactions, specifically two sons of eligible age - Arcturus and Sirius. Hermione spent the entire conversation blushing and trying to change the subject, but the while matter effectively took the duel off her mind.

As darkness fell, they moved slowly around the altar and lit the torches with non-magical fire. It took some persuasion to get the bull up onto the altar, but they managed it without soiling their dresses. Then, they all took off their shoes, washing each other’s feet, hands and faces in a special ‘cleansing’. The pumpkin and athame waited beneath a silky cover, and Hermione lifted them experimentally. The pumpkin was smaller than the ones she usually carved to go outside her door at Halloween; about the size of her head and the athame with wickedly sharp, curved at the tip and jagged along the back edge.

They finished dressing. Hermione let her hair down, taking out every pin and ribbon so that it sprung out around her head wildly. She wrapped them all in her cloak and dropped the bundle with the blanket, just outside the ring of barrows.

‘Are we all ready?’ Lady Grindelwald asked as the two silver haired drummers finished fastening the straps and arranging the hoods of their black cloaks. They nodded, and Hermione met her matriarch’s eyes. ‘Be strong, Hermione.’

The horn blast rang in her ears long after the real sound had faded. She heard the sudden hush fall beyond the barrows. Excitement stirred in her belly and quickened her breath as the drummers beat out the tattoo.

She could hear people assembling, flooding from the feasting to the ritual area, the horn rang out again, clear and loud over the sound of the drums. Something within her seemed to awaken and take notice. A hush fell, broken only by the rustle of robes and crunch of dry grass beneath many feet, the beat of the drums swelled, growing louder, then stopped as clear notes rang out from the horn again. She heard her matriarch greet the key, and remembered with a start that she was meant to be gathering her magic. She closed her eyes, tunnelling deep into the white fire of her core. It roared around her, surging brightly behind her eyelids as she burrowed deeper and deeper, drawing the hot magic along the path to her arms and hands and pooling it there.

A single drumroll came from the altar. Her magic twitched slightly, as if the deep sound had tugged at it. Distantly, she could hear whispering, the sound of many voices, calling to her. The unfamiliar magic of the witches beyond glittered like a belt of stars, viewed through the sun that was her own.

‘Let it be heard, they would bless this harvest, that it may last the winter!’ Her matriarch called. The clear notes of her voice pierced through the roar of fire and magic, sang over the crackle of foreign magic and sibilant whisper of voices, it echoed, soaking into Hermione’s magic and the magic rose up to meet it.

Then, deep within her, something moved. It rose, soaring up like a phoenix from the fire, following Lady Grindelwald’s voice. Panicking, Hermione desperately tried to hold it down, to prevent the carnage it would cause if released. She didn’t know what it was, she didn’t know where it had come from.

Two heavy thuds of the drum, then a roll that became more and more rapid as if mirroring her battle with the beast that had formed within her. The whisper of the witches grew to a chant, calling to the magic, strengthening it. It thrashed against her control, then burst free to the tune of a long blast on the horn.

Magic whipped out of her, howling through the field and extinguishing the torches. Hermione couldn’t control herself but her feet found their own way up to the altar, guided by the magic that had taken control of her. Light seemed to spill from her, gently illuminating the steps and setting her dress glittering. The magic held between the key’s arms glowed like a star, calling out to the surging wildfire within Hermione.

‘I have come.’ A voice, deeper than her own and echoing with power, spoke through Hermione’s lips. ‘I will bless this harvest, that it may last the winter. What will you give me?’

‘They will give you this bull, that it’s life may sustain you. They bring their magic, that it may support you.’ She could see the surprise in Lady Grindelwald’s expression - wide eyes that told her that this was not how events usually occurred, that something was different. Nothing, however, hinted that it was wrong.

‘Then I shall bless this harvest, that it may last the winter. Bring me the life.’ Her body held out it’s hands, lifting the athame and hollowed pumpkin as though they weighed nothing. If she had been in control of herself, she might have dropped them; her hands glowed, as though the flames of her magic were real and burning just below her skin. Lady Grindelwald took them, careful not to touch her, and carried them to the bull. With a cry, the older witch slashed the blade across the bull’s throat and it bellowed in pain to the beat of drums. Glowing blood splashed into the pumpkin which was then passed to her. Hermione balked slightly at the thick, crimson liquid but the magic that was controlling her didn’t, eagerly draining the fluid in a couple of long, deep draughts.

Each swallow burned like acid on the way down, igniting her veins and searing through her limbs. She had felt detached before, but this hurt. Tears pricked her eyes and sweat broke out on her skin. Suddenly she was no longer detached, she was hyper aware of everything. The brush of the night air against he skin, stirring the tiny hairs on her arms. The smoothly worn stone of the altar beneath her bare feet, and the slight grit of dirt that had settled on the ancient surface. She could hear the crackle of magic, the stirring of the men beyond the coven. The beat of the drum had slowed right down, each beat in time with the thud of her heart, rolling deep down inside her and echoing back. She stepped forwards in a daze, overwhelmed by the thousands of sensations. Everything moved in slow motion, her skin was lit with crimson, reflecting in the pooling blood of the bull carcass and shining in the eyes of the assembled witches.

She found herself stepping forwards, up to the edge of the altar, then beyond. But she didn’t fall, instead, her feet kept treading at the same level, as though the air had solidified beneath her. Her arm reached out and touched the bright orb of magic that the key held out.

There was a blinding flash, a crack like lightning and the foreign magic merged with hers. Fire roared out from her as her hands were thrown open, and she screamed as it felt like she was ripped apart. Hurricane strength winds roared through the barrows, whistling and snatching at the dresses and hair of the assembled witches. The wind didn’t touch Hermione, and her skirt continued to stir gently against her skin as the flames that licked her skin grew brighter and brighter. The face of Frau Tunninger was brightly lit in front of her, unharmed by the fire, eyes wide with shock and concern.

There must have been sound, as she turned she could see the beating drums, she knew the wind couldn’t be that strong yet remain silent, but all she could hear was the pounding of her heart, the roar of magic and the laboured sound of her own breath. Burned grass broke beneath Lady Grindelwald’s feet as she stepped down off the altar and approached Hermione cautiously. She held up the athame hilt first with her head bowed and Hermione reached down to take it.

‘I bless this harvest, that it may last the winter.’ That ancient voice spoke through Hermione again. The athame rose and fell with a flash, slicing deeply into her palm. White fire spilled from the wound and Lady Grindelwald deftly caught it. It felt like her ver soul was being torn out, dragged form her toes, sucked up through her legs and torso, down her arms and out, into the bowl. It hurt, but it was sweet relief. As the magic rushed out of her like water from a broken dam, the wind quietened, the light that glowed on her skin dimmed and her heartbeat seemed to grow louder until it was just her and the drumming of her heart.

The drumming grew fainter.


	31. Bloodline

Hermione was carried off the altar by the two drummers as Lady Grindelwald completed the ritual, the formal words sounding hollow after the raw magic that had torn through the gathering only minutes earlier.

Even before it was acceptable to talk, people were already muttering. Some understood what had just happened and were awestruck, others were concerned and still others were frightened. All Gellert could remember was the agonising scream she’d made when the coven magic joined with hers. He remembered the towering wall of fire that had swept out in a circle of blinding white, the howling wind that had sent everybody but him staggering, and he was afraid for her.

He had been taught the old ways; stories of fey, demons and spirits. He recognised when someone other had stepped in and taken control of his witch. No mortal could walk on air like that, no ten year old could hold that much power and no mortal could channel a ritual without the correct words. The question was which one Hermione was playing host to, and was she always playing host to it?

He left the ritual before his mother had even finished scattering the blood, slipping to the back of the crowd and out of the barrow circles. He skirted around the outside to where Hermione was being laid out on the grass by the two drummers. They looked up at his approach and moved to shield her, twin wands drawn.

‘It’s okay, I’m Gellert, her brother.’ He raised his hands, shifting impatiently. One of the witches lit her wand and waved it in his face, then nodded, having ascertained his identity.

They allowed him through and he dropped to his knees beside her. She was ghostly pale, her skin cool to the touch. Her lashes were dark against her cheeks, and it was a relief to feel a breath stir against his cheek. Then she was gone, the beautiful dress that she’d worn collapsing to the ground. One of the twins cursed and pushed him aside, the other stuck her wand beneath his chin viciously.

‘What did you do?’ The woman hissed. She would have had smile lines, but her face was pulled into a terrifying snarl.

‘Nothing, she’s gone home. She always does that.’ He defended.

‘It’s okay, he’s telling the truth.’ His mother’s voice came from behind and he almost sighed in relief, catching himself at the last moment. The twin that held him relaxed her hold and returned her wand to it’s holster.

‘Apparition, after that? I was expecting her to have burned out her core.’ The one on the ground marvelled.

‘Do you know what it was?’ Gellert asked quickly, trying to distract slightly from further interest in Hermione’s unusual abilities. He might have imagined it, but there seemed to be a glimmer of pride in his mother’s eyes at those words.

‘No, I don’t.’ His mother said, sounding slightly defeated. ‘But we should be able to discount a malicious possession at least. It wouldn’t have finished the ritual otherwise and the blessing seemed effective.’

The four of them turned to look at her empty pile of robes on the floor.

‘Poor girl. First that duel, now this. Certainly not an ideal first time as channel’ One of the twins tutted.

‘Although, I wouldn’t want to be that Tunninger girl. I imagine she’s not feeling so confident after that.’ The other pointed out.

His mother knew more, he was certain of it but for whatever reason she didn’t want to discuss the matter in front of an audience. He turned away, cutting across the deserted ritual area towards the fire, where people were already dancing. His mother scooped up the dress and joined him, her longer legs meaning she didn’t have to look undignified as she caught up.

‘You know what it was?’ Gellert demanded, then winced when he realised how disrespectful that had sounded. He almost expected a blow and was surprised when instead she regarded him calculatingly and replied.

‘I do. I believe that was family magic.’

‘Family magic?’ Gellert asked. He’d heard of it referred to in old stories, usually in combination with powerful sorcery and magic. He’d never heard of it beyond the confines of the family cave otherwise, and that magic was nothing like what Hermione had performed earlier.

‘Yes, family magic; the magical residue of our ancestors, channelled through the family head.’ His mother confirmed.

‘But she isn’t the family head.’ Gellert pointed out. His mother was, the glittering sapphire signet ring on her finger proved it.

‘Not of our family.’ Lady Grindelwald pointed out and Gellert paused, considering the implications of that.

‘So she’s from some other family? She’s not a Grindelwald?’ He asked. He didn’t know enough about it, but he wondered if the ancestors of her true family would be annoyed that they’d taken her in. Then again, she’d completed the ritual in the cave without any issues.

‘Come now Gellert. I have taught you better than that. The family magic accepted her, so she is family. Do you think Frau Kollmann left the Tunninger family when she joined the Kollmann family?’ His mother showed the first hint of irritation. Gellert shrugged, he really hadn’t thought on it. He supposed not.

‘Is there a limit?’ He asked finally.

‘Of course not. You are a Grindelwald on my side, but your father was from the Oberlander family. You are the last of the Oberlander family, but they are not an old family so they do not have their own family magic. Should I have failed to raise you, you would have been taken in by my mother’s family, the Lintzens, and inducted into their magic. If Anneken died without children, you would become head of both the Lintzen family and the Grindelwald family. If your wife were to be, perhaps, Mareike, your son might become head of all four families, or perhaps you may have two children and spread the burden.’ She explained, Gellert nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

‘So Hermione is Grindelwald, and this other family as well.’ He confirmed an his mother nodded her head. ‘What family is it?’

‘That, I do not know. I suspect she is descended from a squib, but she could be the first magical in the line in centuries. Perhaps she will attend the Samhain ritual with us, and we will learn.’

Gellert doubted that would be happening soon, as Hermione had made it very clear that that, along with the day of the new year, were dates that she celebrated with her family in England. He had a plan however; Hermione could never turn down knowledge. He just needed to pique her interest in her first family, and he was certain Anneken would be more than willing to help him.

‘May I share this with Anneken?’ He asked his mother. The older witch looked at him sternly.

‘Perhaps, if you believe she will keep this to herself. I believe she has Hermione’s trust?’

‘She wishes to join Hermione’s coven.’

Lady Grindelwald gave a delighted laugh and gave him her blessing to share the news with Anneken. They parted, Lady Grindelwald heading over to the dark cluster of robes that was the rest of the coven. He spotted Anneken by her dress, which was of course daringly cut and made out of shining crimson fabric. She was dancing with her fiancée, a tall and muscular man with dark complexion.

She stopped as soon as she saw him, dropping her fiancé’s arms as though she had forgotten he existed.

‘Is Hermione okay?’ She demanded, pulling him out of the way of the rest of the dancers who were spinning and clapping around the bonfire. Her fiancé followed, a somewhat bemused expression on his face.

He explained the situation in an undertone. Anneken was a society witch, with her daring dresses and circles of female minions but she was also incredibly intelligent and had studied ancient magic for far longer. She also didn’t seem hindered by Gellert’s assumptions.

‘It must be an extinct family, or she wouldn’t be the family head.’ Anneken pointed out, ‘an ancient house too; that was incredibly powerful and you need a lot of generations to have that kind of reservoir.’

‘Do you think there’s a list of ancient families somewhere?’

‘Perhaps the British ones, they’re so obsessed with genealogy.’ Her fiancé interrupted with a deep baritone. Anneken and Gellert jumped slightly and drew apart.

‘Gellert, this is Andon Krum, my fiancée. Andon, you may have met Gellert Grindelwald. He is Hermione’s brother.’ Anneken introduced smoothly.

They shook hands.

‘You share a dormitory with my younger brother at Durmstrang.’ Andon informed him. Gellert politely hid his sneer. Viktor Krum had met Gellert’s expectations entirely - he had a voracious appetite and an inability to keep his belongings tidy. Gellert had jinxed his underwear more than once when it had strayed into his area. Thankfully it seemed that tidbit of information hadn’t reached home.

‘My mother said we should see if we can persuade her to spend Samhain with us.’ Gellert turned back to Anneken, not quite dismissing him from the conversation but certainly letting him know that he wasn’t included.

‘That shouldn’t be hard. More importantly, we need to make sure she knows how to use that magic... or perhaps more importantly, not use it, considering the duel - I heard it was to be this spring?’

‘Yule, yes. Your father is the warden.’ Anneken rolled her eyes at him, suggesting that she was very aware of her father’s role.

‘He bought her as much time as possible, yes?’ Krum pointed out. Gellert glared at him. He really didn’t like either Krum. Perhaps his judgement of the family had been somewhat skewed by that incident with the toy broom at Yule several years ago, and it certainly hadn’t helped that Krum hadn’t changed in the slightest. He considered the complete lack of discipline to be as much a failing of the family as his year mate.

‘Your mother really will push her. Perhaps I should visit more often, see if I can provide some relief.’ Anneken murmured thoughtfully and warmth flooded through Gellert, even as a scowl fixed itself on Krum’s features. Her fiancé clearly wasn’t as keen on her spending more time with Hermione. Gellert couldn’t think of anything better; Anneken had a point. By agreeing to the duel, Hermione had placed an incredible amount of pressure on her shoulders, and Gellert’s mother would expect her to rise to it. He did not envy her the private duelling lessons his mother would inflict on her.


	32. Arena

Hermione sat as primly as she could, with her back ramrod straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap as Lady Grindelwald surveyed her. She had been sitting like this for several minutes already, watching her matriarch watch her.

‘We will need to get you a proper wand of course. It is customary to wait until the school letter arrives, but I think that considering the circumstances...’ Hermione jumped at the sudden conversation, then forced herself still again. ‘We will visit Gregorovitch this afternoon.’

Hermione hid a grin. She’d been looking forwards to getting her wand since Gellert had received his and was relieved to be getting it with her wizarding family rather than her true parents. It had seemed like the kind of experience that her parents just wouldn’t understand. The way that she had felt Gellert’s magic flow through the tool during their magic practice after he had gotten his had been incomparable and she couldn’t wait to see what they could do if they were both together with wands.

Of course, that would have to wait. This duel was significantly more pressing and she suspected there would be little time for experimentation in the near future. Even as she thought on her potential new wand, Lady Grindelwald was outlining her new schedule. She would continue with her sword fighting lessons but ethics, occlumency and ancient magic had all been dropped in favour of duelling. She would be receiving lessons one on one every day, from both Lady Grindelwald, Anneken and to her surprise, several other members of the coven had volunteered to spend time with her.

She waved all this off, knowing that her elf would be provided with a timetable which she could annotate at length later. In the meantime, she was about to get her own wand, made solely for her.

She was changed in less than five minutes and and shifted around with such excitement that Flighty walloped her with her hairbrush as the elf tried to fix the Grindelwald family comb into her hair. She met Lady Grindelwald down at the floo room as fast as her slippery formal shoes would let her run down the stairs and found the older witch already waiting. She was met with the usual impassive expression but she grinned up at her matriarch anyway and eagerly scooped floo powder from the enamelled bowl.

She still found the Unterhalb fascinating but she restrained herself and tried to discretely peer into the barrels outside the apothecary. She recognised most of the ingredients outside as rather common and had used most of hem during potion classes before Gellert had left. It was not her strongest subject but even she knew that those stoat livers were shrivelled and dried; she was certain that Berg, with his near encyclopaedic knowledge of potion ingredients would be able to tell her exactly which potions would benefit from the aged condition of the ingredient, but she wasn’t sure if they were friends anymore.

When Lady Grindelwald swooped out of the fire she left the apothecary and trailed her matriarch down to the small back alley that led to Gregorovitch’s workshop.

The wandmaker was already there, seated at his brightly lit desk with wood chips mounded around him. He bowed a greeting as he brushed himself off, sending twinkling shavings to the dark floor beyond the workbench. A dustpan and brush whizzed out from a corner and swept up the dirt, then shoo itself into a bin and neatly tucked itself away again.

‘Lady Grindelwald, Miss Hermione - I’ve heard about the duel of course.’ Lady Grindelwald gave an irritable sigh.

‘I suppose everyone between here and Egypt has by now.’

‘I imagine so... The young Tunninger was such a promising witch as well.’ Gregorovitch sighed forlornly.

‘Such faith. Perhaps she will win and it will be Hermione who must withdraw from society.’ Lady Grindelwald pointed out but there was an amused tone to her voice that suggested she believed that was about as likely as pigs flying... although, Hermione reflected, pigs might actually fly in the wizarding world so perhaps that wasn’t the best comparison. The derisive scoff from Gregorovitch let both women know exactly what he thought of Alice Tunninger’s chances.

‘When dragons learn to write.’ The wandmaker scoffed. ‘Now, jump up on the stool if you would.’

Hermione obeyed, stepping up onto the wooden stool as Gregorovitch circled her and a little tape measure began to take measurements.

‘Any elemental preferences?’ The wandmaker asked as the tape measure disappeared up Hermione’s skirt and began measuring the length of her inner thigh. She shifted uncomfortably and was glad the Lady Grindelwald answered for her - Hermione really had no idea what her elemental preference might be.

‘Fire, I suspect, but I have seen some manifestations as wind.’

Hermione was handed a long, thin stick, carved with intricate runes. It tugged at her magic and a moment later silvery fire began to pour out of the end.

‘No, no, no!’ Gregorovitch cried, snatching it back. ‘Don’t direct it, let the runes do the casting.’

Chastened, Hermione nodded and this time when she received the stick she tried to keep her mind completely blank. The wand remained unresponsive and the wandmaker tutted, shaking his head and scowling at Lady Grindelwald.

‘You’ve already taught her occlumency?’ He demanded. Lady Grindelwald looked uneasy.

‘That won’t be a problem?’

‘No but we’ll need to do this the long way. Please, come with me.’

He led them through a gloomy doorway that was nestled between the laden shelves. He asked Lady Grindelwald to shut the door behind them and she did as asked. It shut with a heavy, metallic clang and a spark of light flared through a rune carved into dark metal. The room that they had entered was empty except for a pair of concentric circles on the floor. Gregorovitch conjured a pair of thick cushions inside the inner circle and gracefully folded down to sit on it. He gestured for Hermione to take the other one.

‘Is this a particularly dangerous procedure?’ Lady Grindelwald asked, inspecting the rune that glowed on the door.

‘No, no.’ Gregorovitch answered breezily, ‘I use this room for the more dangerous ingredients but it serves this purpose well enough. Now, Hermione, I want you to join hands with me, yes, like that. Now, stay calm, I’m going to touch your magic.’

His magic was oily but bright silver, more viscous feeling than Anneken’s liquid silver and much... less. There was no real way to describe it better than that. Hermione’s own magic was like a ball of white fire and she felt him trying to coax it into doing... something. It wasn’t like when Gellert manipulated her magic; then she instinctively seemed to know hat he was trying to achieve but with this she really had no idea. She let him keep trying for a little bit, then offered up a little slice of her magic to his. He took it and prodded it into several different forms, one was perhaps a transfiguration, the other a charm of some sort, he definitely set fire to something and then poked at it some more. Finally, he pulled back and their hands disconnected. Hermione opened her eyes.

‘Very interesting. I think dragon heartstring, but the species is the question. I’d like something to balance the flamboyant characteristics, perhaps something more serious. There is no inclination toward the arcane though, so an Asian type dragon just wouldn’t do... lets see...’ The two witches trailed the muttering wand maker back through the warded door and into the front of the shop again. He stood before the wall of wand cores where several jars sat on the shelf, each filled with something slimy and snakelike.

‘Nidhogg, perhaps? It’s rare, but I should have some somewhere.’ The wandmaker rummaged among the jars, sending them clinking together as he reached towards the back. He pulled out a larger jar that looked like it was filled with thick black worms. He tucked it under his arm and crossed over to the woods, muttering about light woods. He beckoned her over, and handed her the jar. She took it, hefting the large jar and leaning back to counterbalance it. There was a loud clatter of wood, but with her vision obstructed by the ornate lid of the jar, all she could see was Gregorovitch bending down and picking something off the floor with a happy exclamation. A moment later she was relieved of the jar and the wandmaker hurried towards the workbench with it. He carried a long about as wide as her wrist in the other hand and he dropped both onto the table.

‘This one will take a while, I think. Perhaps you should get something to eat and come back in an hour or so?’ The wandmaker suggested, already sketching excitedly in a notebook with a piece of charcoal.

Hermione looked to her matriarch who didn’t seem concerned in the slightest and instead simply nodded and left. Hermione hurried after her into the lantern-lit street. It was still far too early in the morning for lunch and Lady Grindelwald was not a believer in morning tea, elevenses or smoko. Hermione was unsurprised when they turned away from the busy main alleyways and began striding purposefully down a wide street full of much darker looking shops. They passed another apothecary - but this one sold fingernails and tears of sorrow, there was an artefact shop that sold cursed necklaces and dancing shoes, a dingy place with silver skulls in the window and an exotic pet shop that had heavy cages packed with miserable looking pixies and a very sick three-headed puppy.

Lady Grindelwald strode past all of this with Hermione hurrying at her hem. They had reached the very edge of the massive cavern that made up the Unterhalb, and the massive building at the end of the street jutted out from the wall like the bow of a ghost ship. Huge blocks of purplish-black stone were hung with ghostly silver banners, each bearing an ensign of two crossed wands. Large double doors were open and the room beyond was busy with witches and wizards in a dazzling variety of coloured robes. The air practically hummed with the protective enchantments on their clothes and she noticed a significant number of people carried swords and bows.

Lady Grindelwald cut through the crowd which for once didn’t part for them - the gathered wixen more interested in trying to get at what looked like sheets of parchment pinned to the towering pillars.

She reached a desk where a harried looking clerk was trying to explain to an angry looking wizard with a black eye to match his purple robes that he needed to fill out a certain form. The wizard kept puffing out his chest and was banging his wand against his thigh with every point he made and gold sparks kept shooting out and singing the witch behind him. She seemed to not notice because she too was arguing furiously over some form and kept batting her adult son over the head with a large green fan.

Lady Grindelwald cut past both of these people and a man in gold livery bowed them through a small gilt side door. The corridor beyond was a breath of blessed silence after the chaos of the foyer.

‘We are at the duelling circuit.’ Lady Grindelwald informed her before Hermione could even draw breath. Her mouth snapped shut. ‘We will spectate a couple of matches and perhaps you will learn something from them.’

They emerged a moment later into a large viewing balcony. There was only one other person - a tall witch in forest green duelling robes. She sat on one of the cushioned benches and leaned forwards eagerly to watch the proceedings below. When they entered she nodded to them, but quickly turned back to look over the balcony. The room was long and curving with a long opening down one side that looked out into a massive arena. She couldn’t see the floor from here, but she could hear the spells zinging around and the occasional bright flash lit the ceiling.

A thunderous drumming of skin against stone rolled up from the arena floor as a gold flash lit the room. A fiery name scrolled out across the far wall in elegant cursive. Hermione hurried forwards to peer over the balustrade and down to where a green robed wizard wearing a serpentine mask was bowing and flourishing his wand dramatically. Another wizard, this one in red with a white line down his mask’s nose clapped the green robed wizard on the back and made his way out of the arena.

‘The duelling circuit is slightly different to a formal duel - the standings have no lasting consequences outside of this room, unlike a traditional duel. As you can see they wear masks to protect their identities and reputations. There is no magical contract, and there are a number of safeguards in place to protect participants.’ Lady Grindelwald explained as a second pair of duellists stepped out into the arena. The woman at the other end of the room gave an undignified snort; one wore all black and his robes swirled mysteriously like smoke around his feet. His mask was bone white, like a skull. The other wore more sensible grey and the deep shadow beneath his cowl suggested a simple glamour.

“Acheron vs. Alphantom.” The fiery words spelled out across the far wall. The volume of the crowd swelled to a roar as the two opponents walked to a pair of inlaid golden stars in the centre of the floor. The two combatants bowed to one another, then seemed to just watch each other for a moment. With both of them wearing masks, she couldn’t see their lips but she was fairly certain they were talking, then when they shook hands, a silver glow lit their clothing briefly.

‘You will follow a similar procedure.’ Lady Grindelwald commentated from beside her. The older witch wore a somewhat derisive sneer on her face as she looked down. ‘Traditional duels have less ceremony beforehand as most of the terms have already been agreed to. You will however reiterate your oath, which should protect you from any magic that was not agreed upon.’

As she spoke, the two duellists below turned and stepped out along a line of golden moons along the floor. They took six steps each, until they stood upon another star, then they turned back to face on another. They bowed again, then each assumed a position that was somewhat similar to fencing, with their wands brandished like swords. The gold star in the middle of the room flashed red twice, then flashed green. Two violet spells flew across the space and collided in the middle of the room. A silvery mist poured out of the hand of the grey robed wizard as his wand wove confidently in the other. The black cloaked one was wielding some kind of portable magical shield in his off hand and sending spells back at the other with his wand.

‘See the was he deflects rather than eliminated spells?’ Her matriarch pointed out as a spell zinged their way and splashed against an invisible boundary between them and the duel. The grey wizard was almost obscured by his mist now and the other was trying to move it away with a powerful wind charm that buffeted his robes.

‘Of course, he should be casting a revealing spell instead of worrying about that mist. Duelling pitches are always flat, so you only need to be concerned with your opponent.’

The dark wizard was succeeding in dispersing the mist, then there was a roar as a gold spell glanced off his upper arm. His arm dropped limply and his wand flicked a red spell in the direction of the origin of the gold one. A shout suggested he had been close, and a flare of blue marked a hastily cast shield charm. A murder of crows shot out from the vicinity of the shield charm and were hastily incinerated by a flaming whip, which then coiled to strike at the grey wizard, burning away the last of the mist. The grey wizard ducked and rolled beneath the tongue, then splashed water in a fine jet. The whip blinked out and he scrambled to his feet and fired off six quick pinkish spells.

‘Creativity is key, skill and deflection will outlast brute strength.’

The black duellist was fending off a barrage of silver jets that flew from both of the grey wizard’s hands. The wands were a blur, the defender somehow erected a dome shaped shield and returned to the offensive with a huge shockwave that physically knocked the remaining spells off course where they flashed against the far wall. The shield charm warped and sucked inwards at the base like a balloon. Yellow gas filled the space and a small bubble appeared around the back wizards head. The grey wizard was using both hand and wand to control the hijacked shield, then seemed to deem it finished because he cast a simple spark. The shield disappeared and the gas ignited with a whoosh.

A slightly charred black wizard dropped his wand and bowed in defeat.

‘Very complex magic, taking control of someone else’s spell. I imagine you would actually be rather good at it with the way you wield Gellert’s magic.’ Lady Grindelwald commented. A small bowl of fruit had appeared at some point during the duel and the lady helped herself to a grape. Hermione was too excited to sit, let alone eat. She’d never seen something as exciting as that duel before.


	33. Warnings

Despite less than an eighth of the school attending the traditional Harvest ritual, somehow the entire population seemed to know about the dramatic night by the time he returned to the castle. By the time he woke up the next morning, everyone seemed to have formed an opinion and was determined to let him know as such.

‘Hey Grindelwald, is it true your nine year old sister was the main witch in the ritual last night?’ One boy called across the room.

‘Yeah, and isn’t the one who tried to duel her your sister?’ Another demanded of Berg.

‘I heard she got possessed by a demon’ The mousy boy by the door added.

‘No, Alice Tunninger cursed her.’

‘No she didn’t, it was the ritual magic rejecting a mudblood.’ The wealthy English boy called in his heavily accented German from inside the toilets.

‘Big words from a half-blood.’ Jeered the first boy.

‘Ritual magic doesn’t care about blood status, idiots. That’s just a stupid English idea.’ Spielmann scolded all of them. He was a pureblood, Gellert was certain his family adhered to the doctrine, but it seemed they were perhaps not as religious about it as his mother had implied.

‘Grindelwald will smash her.’ The first boy promised eagerly.

‘Don’t be stupid, she’s nine. Tunninger knows real magic at least.’

‘I’ve seen her doing real magic before.’ Christopher Hawdon interrupted quietly. ‘Hermione duelled Livius Lucan last year.’

There was stunned silence for a moment... then, ‘no way!’ Muttered Spielmann.

‘Yeah, that can’t be right.’ The mousy boy added. ‘I saw her right after he was beaten and she was fine.’

‘It’s true.’ Berg snapped and the room went dead silent. ‘She duelled Livius Lucan on the path down from Blau Berg last summer and escaped from his hideout that night.’

‘And your sister wants to duel her?’ Spielmann asked incredulously.

‘I never said she was smart.’ Berg snapped, jabbing his wand a little to aggressively at his boots to clean them and scouring off all the polish. The room remained dead silent for a moment longer and several people cast glances at Gellert who had so far remained silent.

He studiously packed his books into his bag and shoved his towel in over the top, ready for their morning duelling class. He was the first down to breakfast and he ate his dense, goopy porridge moodily, wishing that he’d had a chance to talk to Hermione about the ritual before she’d disappeared. His owl was gone, not yet returned from the last time he’d sent it home to Grindelwald Castle with a letter for Hermione so he couldn’t write to her even.

He left before anyone else had arrived, deciding to ride Kelpie down to the fjord for their duelling lesson. It usually took about half an hour to make the descent and easily double that to make the ascent again; it had only taken two lessons for most students to realise it was well worth the time it took to either saddle their mounts or beg to borrow a broomstick.

It was a relief to be out on the grounds, strolling through the mighty trees as the warm autumnal breeze whispered among the branches. There would be little change to signify autumn here, with most of the trees being evergreen, but he could almost smell the imminent snow on the air. There was an orchard half way down the mountain, hidden by the taller pines and slightly further along were several paddocks, each protected by a massive climate charm to keep them at the perfect conditions for the plants that grew within. He’d only ever been in the high paddock, which was where first years took Herbology but there was a heart plant in the wet paddock that Kelpie liked to snack on and could be reached from the fence.

It was here that he was tracked down. The chestnut hippogriff was unmistakable, and Gellert’s hand flew to his wand.

‘Don’t cast!’ Berg shouted, his hands already thrown into the air even as his mount took advantage of the dropped reins to snap at Kelpie.

‘Expelliarmus.’ Gellert said coldly, deftly catching the dark wand that flew out of Berg’s pocket. Then he just looked at Berg expectantly as the other boy hastened to back his mount away from the now somewhat irate Kelpie.

Berg finally settled his mount and looked cautiously around.

‘Do you know how to check if anybody’s listening?’ He asked cautiously. Gellert raised an eyebrow but didn’t admit that he didn’t know the spell.

‘Do you?’ He asked in reply. Berg looked awkward and craned sideways in the saddle as if to check that nobody was hiding in Kelpie’s shadow.

‘Look, I think my sister’s being stupid. You already know that I think Hermione’s crazy strong.’ Berg started, then he huffed and shook his head. ‘She used my owl to send a letter, but he brought the reply to me instead of her.’

Gellert gestured for him to carry on.

‘Look, I’m meant to be supporting her, she’s the Tunninger heir, so keep this quiet alright?’ Berg said quickly, shoving out a thick piece of parchment. Gellert reached out and took it from him, shaking it open with the hand that wasn’t currently clutching both wands and his reins.

Gellert didn’t recognise the seal but he did recognise the name.

‘Dumortier? Isn’t he the leader of that French Revolution? The one the Delacours keep having trouble with?’ Gellert demanded.

‘Yes. They’ve been trying to overthrow the covens system after the muggles succeeded in getting rid of their king.’ Berg loved history and books but this was one instance where Gellert wasn’t sure how much he could ask for.

‘What interest have they got in Germany?’

‘Your mother supported the Delacours, so revenge.’ Berg said with a frown. ‘But I imagine, more importantly that its because the coven is the most powerful in Europe. The Delacours would lose the Russian coven without us to act as an intermediary, not to mention that our coven is the biggest in Europe, since the Bulgarians ceded control to your mother.’

‘Of course. If Alice wins, you’re Hermione’s second. Can you imagine if she beat both of you?’

‘It would shake confidence in the Grindelwald name.’

‘And in your power. Would people support you if they didn’t rely on your family for safety? Of course, you’d both be disgraced which would leave the Grindelwald family excluded from the coven and your family have always been the powerhouse.’

‘Merlin.’ Gellert swore.

‘My loyalty is to the coven, and to Germany.’ Berg promised.

‘Do we bring this to the adults?’ Gellert asked, hastily pocketing the letter where it couldn’t be lost.

‘I think your mother already knows.’ Berg said sagely.

‘Right. So what do we do about it?’

‘I think you need to practice too. I know Hermione’s strong, but Alice is too. You mustn’t let her defeat you both.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Gellert kneeded Kelpie’s slick mane between his fingers.

‘I’ve got some great duelling books, I bet there’s some good spells in there.’ Berg suggested and Gellert nodded.

‘You should stay with Alice, see if you can find out anything more.’

‘Yeah, she still thinks I’m loyal to her.’ Berg looked troubled for a moment, then checked his watch as the awkward silence drew out. ‘Class is in half an hour. I should go.’

He left in a beat of chestnut wings and Gellert meandered his way slowly back over the ridge and towards the fjord on foot. His mind raced, but it kept circling back to the same issue - was Hermione strong enough for this? His mind fought with his heart over whether to tell her about this.

His heart broke at the thought of telling her - she was so painfully brave and he could already see her straightening as she shouldered the burden of the country that wasn’t truly hers and the family name that had been meant to protect her. At the same time he could hardly not warn her just what she would be up against.


	34. Training

‘Use your wand!’ Snapped the older witch once again. Hermione quickly brought up her right hand, casting a second spell through it. Her magic was sluggish with exhaustion and the jinx had almost flickered out by the time it blinked pathetically against Frau Hassel’s shielding charm. A stinging jinx that she’d missed with her own shield sparked against her leg and her knee buckled, sending her sprawling across the floor. She let herself lie there, exhausted. The sooner she stood, the sooner she would have to cast more spells. That pit inside of her had never felt so empty, the fire of her magic felt dim and distant and she could barely remember which hand held the wand and which didn’t. In fact, she could barely remember where her arms were. She’d stopped feeling them hours ago.

‘Up.’ Frau Hassel ordered sharply. Hermione debated with herself whether it would be worth it to just ignore her.

‘Yow!’ She shot to her feet, hopping sideways as the damp ground hissed with steam.

‘I said up.’

Frau Hassel looked soft, with a short build and rounded frame. Hermione had never taken her to be much of a dueller, let alone the brutal taskmaster she became during their lessons every Tuesday. Hermione hated Tuesdays... and Mondays with Anneken... and every other day that she spent with Lady Grindelwald. She wished she had declined Sun, that she had allowed Alice to keep her spot.

‘Your magic needs time to regenerate. Drink up.’ She was passed two potions, one a stormy purple and the other thick and forget-me-not blue. One, apparently would help her magic regenerate quicker and the other contained the exact mix of vitamins and minerals to keep her healthy despite the exercise. Both tasted vile and she was very glad to not have seen the ingredient list. The only thing worse than something tasting like slug entrails was knowing that it was actually slug entrails.

‘Now, meditate.’ Frau Hassel instructed. Hermione gratefully dropped to a sitting position on dirt that seemed awfully soft and comfortable and delved into the dim cavern that was her magic. Empty, empty but shimmering with the purple glow of the potion. The idea of the exercise was to grasp as much magic as possible and direct it from her core to her wand as quickly as possible. Apparently, the more familiar both her new wand and her magic were with the path and the connection, the faster she would be able to cast spells.

The wand was a cool and calming counter to the fire of her magic but that made it no less curious about performing magic than she was. Her magic tended to be less showy and much, much more powerful when channeled through the wand, like it was a focus for her power. It was happy to go along with her non-structured spell casting, but it really didn’t like vague directions and tended to backfire spectacularly unless she focused clearly on what she wanted.

Unlike Gellert, she had fallen in love with her wand immediately upon receiving it and it had fallen in love with her, puffing happy smoke when they had returned to the shop. It was long and slender, never thicker than her finger and inky black with rippling ridges treating a grip up to about a third of the length. It was vine apparently, although one would hardly have placed it with the colour of the wood, which was apparently a side effect of the colour action of the particular dragon breed whose heartstrings were inside - Nidhoggs, the only non-Asian serpent dragon breed, had a black colourant in their blood (according to the library, it was an evolutionary trait that made them harder to track if they were bleeding).

Gregorovitch had winked meaningfully and informed her that Nidhogg were notoriously long lived, and that her wand should last for centuries if properly cared for. Lady Grindelwald had huffed but seemed pleased enough none the less.

Now, it was that connection that was her saving grace. Her wand was so good at channelling power from her core into the world, that it allowed Hermione to almost completely disregard that part of the process.

So she spiralled down to where she had found that thing, the other... Since she had first found it during the ritual, she had danced nearby several times. It stirred occasionally, clearly not her own magic, but connected to her. It was like performing magic with Gellert - familiar but still a seperate entity, carried with her - inside her.

Again, that other stirred. Immense and powerful, she lingered for a moment and the other magic seemed to watch her in return. She was certain that this wasn’t normal, that she had something possessing her. Her mind jumped to images of demonic possessions and priests performing agonising exorcisms and shuddered, pushing the other down and away. If she ignored it, perhaps it would go dormant again and she wouldn’t have to worry about it.

It refused to go to sleep; it seemed that this time she had managed to truly awaken it. Like a floodgate, the barrier between her and the other dissolved and magic flooded in. It was like a howling wind, grey and swirling yet attuned to her fire. It whipped up the glowing coals, sparked life back into her magic and stoked the flames back up to a roar. Suddenly buzzing which energy, she opened her eyes again to see Frau Hassel looking at her with raised eyebrows.

Hermione’s grin dropped. Powerful as this being might be, it was still a possession and she shouldn’t encourage it.

‘Sorry, Frau.’ She said meekly.

‘I think I should fetch Lady Grindelwald. This is an issue best discussed with your matriarch.’ The older witch flicked her wand and a silvery animal bounded away over the lawn. A moment later, Lady Grindelwald popped up beside them, an elf gripping her hand tightly. Frau Hassel stood smoothly.

‘I’ll take some tea.’ She suggested, taking the elf’s hand and popping away, leaving the two Grindelwald women alone.

Lady Grindelwald sat opposite Hermione, arranging her skirts perfectly before finally looking up to meet the eyes of her ward.

‘Did you know, Hermione, that it is often believed that new bloods are actually the descendants of squibs?’

‘No.’ Hermione said, mystified. ‘What’s a squib?’

‘Someone born to a magical family that doesn’t have magic.’

‘Oh.’ Hermione said. ‘So I’m descended from a squib?’

‘Certainly, even if most aren’t. Come, touch my hands. I want you to follow my lead.’

The two women touched gently and Hermione quickly delved into her magic, then looked towards Lady Grindelwald. Her matriarch was becoming familiar to her now, and she quickly located her icy presence. Her matriarch guided her towards a certain area, deep and cold where Hermione had never been before. It was here that she felt something else, as ancient and powerful as the being that lived inside of her. This one was shockingly sharp, like electricity and it gave her a healthy jolt as she came too close.

It shocked her back to reality and she opened her eyes to find the sunny world startlingly bright after the depths of her Matriarch’s magic.

‘What is it?’ Hermione asked when the older witch’s eyes opened.

‘That is family magic - it connects to all of us in an ancient family, and it is what sets us apart from the newer families. There are many of us who believe it is the residual power of generations of magical ancestors, others believe it is some kind of supernatural sponsor. I am inclined to believe the former.’

‘So that’s Grindelwald magic?’ Hermione asked, relieved. If it was something special and common, that was much better than the demon possession she’d started to suspect.

‘No. Yours is not. Family magic may be present in all family members, but it is not accessible by any but the family head. For Gellert, I can tell that he is alive and well through the magic but until I pass, he will not be able to control it. You will not be able to control the Grindelwald magic until he passes.’

‘You said I’m descended from a squib?’ Hermione asked suddenly, realisation dawning suddenly. Lady Grindelwald smiled.

‘Well done Hermione. Your magic is that of another family, one that has had no magic for generations.’

‘Which?’ She murmured, in awe.

‘That, I don’t know.’

Disappointment dampened her amazement but then something else occurred to her.

‘Does that mean the Grindelwald ritual didn’t work?’

To her surprise, Lady Grindelwald barked a harsh, unladylike laugh.

‘Gellert asked me exactly the same question. I told him that you can be of more than one family; your birth family, your ward family and your marriage family. Gellert is a member of almost all the coven families, although Grindelwald has by far the strongest claim on him.’

‘Am I meant to use it? That family magic?’ She asked curiously. She’d never seen Lady Grindelwald wielding her family magic, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t. Hermione doubted she saw even half of the powerful magic her Matriarch performed.

‘It will answer your call if you need it, but it will jump to provide in certain situations. The Grindelwald magic finds combat exciting, and will leap to provide for me then. It also takes interest in dark magic, which is perhaps why so many of our family have fallen to its temptations though history. Yours seemed to take interest in the ritual.’

‘What else?’ She demanded, reaching for the other magic within her, already imagining all the different things she could do with it.

‘I don’t know. I suggested to Gellert that perhaps Samhain might be the time to find out. If you attend, it will be your ancestors who answer.’

Hermione grimaced. Samhain was one of the two days she hadn’t appeared at Blau Berg last year and she had a strong suspicion that had been because she had only made it to bed in the small hours of the morning. The other day had been New Years.

Already, the idea was running through her mind - she could easily pretend to be sick, with her immaculate record her teachers certainly wouldn’t question anything. Her parents on the other hand... her mother read medical journals for pleasure and would be significantly harder to dupe. Not to mention the reputation dam age that it would cause if she missed such a big party.

An idea occurred to her - one that was brilliant enough to excuse missing the party and perhaps it would even be a popularity boost among her minions in the process. She would have to go to the library when she next got a couple of minutes.


	35. Spying

‘Hey, Gellert. Wake up.’

Gellert rolled over beneath the covers, swatting his hand in the direction of the annoying voice. The intruder swore, then ripped off Gellert’s blankets. He hissed, recoiling against the headboard and blinking blearily at the shadowy figure that was poking his head through the hangings of the bed.

‘Whassit?’ He groaned, scrabbling for the trailing edge of the blankets in a feeble attempt to stay warm.

‘Alice is meeting with Dumortier to train today.’ Berg hissed. Immediately, Gellert was wide awake.

‘Where?’ He demanded, already pulling on his clothes.

‘Through the portal. You should be able to catch her if you hurry.’

He tugged on his boots and grabbed his wand, tucking it firmly into the holster and casting a wandless sticking charm on it so that it couldn’t be summoned.

‘Are you coming?’ He asked, noticing that Berg was already warmly dressed.

‘Yes.’ The boy said, looking determined. ‘I’ve been thinking; if I share this memory with my mother, perhaps she can still stop this.’

Gellert eyes him, then nodded and the two boys snuck out of the dark dormitory and along the torchlit corridor. It was still very early morning, so early that even the older years who usually started the weekend with a swim were still asleep. The sky was still deep blue, but a faint hint of lilac and orange traced the mountains and suggested the sun would soon rise.

They slipped down the corridor to the stables, ghosting like shadow through the pools of light cast by the flickering torches. They pressed themselves up against the doorway as hooves clopped out of the stables, waiting with baited breath as the double doors at the end of the stable grated open. For several long seconds Gellert barely drew breath, nervous that she’d hear him despite how illogical he knew it would be to hear breathing across the massive stable of beasts.

There was no sound of the door shutting behind her, but the uneven clatter of hooves and talons stopped abruptly. The two boys peered cautiously around the doorway into the pitch black stalls. The door hung ajar at the far and, swirls of snow glinting in the first golden rays of sunlight.

‘We should both ride your Kelpie. We’ll be too easy to spot if we fly.’ Berg whispered. Gellert nodded and went to appease his mount whilst Berg fetched the harness. They didn’t bother with the saddle, as that would take too long and Alice already had a head start. Instead, both boys clambered up across the damp, slimy back, wincing as their clothes were immediately soaked through.

They had to take the long route, thundering along beneath the shadow of the trees in hot pursuit of the silvery speck that was Alice’s Hippogriff in the sky. The snow drove at them horizontally, burning their skin and freezing into an icy trim on their cloaks. Gellert’s hands felt solid around the rein and every plunge of Kelpie’s head felt like it would snap his fingers. The only consolation was that Alice certainly had it worse, and she was flying slowly as a result. They arrived before her with enough time to settle Kelpie beneath the cover of the trees that surrounded the portal and cast their best warming charms to keep him comfortable. They warmed themselves with a hasty jog to the clearing and arrived just in time to see Alice disappear through the portal.

‘Have you ever been through without a mount?’ Berg asked nervously. The portal was lashing up snow with it’s spectral wind, creating a miniature storm.

‘I’ve heard its horrible.’ Gellert agreed. He had never been through alone, but his mother had threatened it before and he had quickly capitulated to... whatever her demand had been at the time.

‘We need to go quickly, before it shuts.’ Berg pointed out and the two boys crept closer to the swirling grey portal.

‘Wands ready. She might be waiting for us at the other end.’ Both boys palmed their wands, gripping them with white knuckles that would have had their duelling teacher jinxing them with blisters.

‘On three?’

‘Three.’

‘Two.’

‘One.’ Both boys stepped forwards into the grey. Gellert was blown to his hands and knees, one of Berg’s appendages slammed into his face and his cry of pain was whipped away by the wind. He groped sideways, his hand closing around what felt like Berg’s wrist. He crawled forwards, agonisingly slowly, painfully aware that the seconds that it was safe to stay in a portal were currently streaming away. It was an awkward, stumbling movement as they shuffled forwards blindly on hand and knee, clutching each other’s wrists.

Then the wind died suddenly, honey sunlight streamed down on them, melting the rime ice on their hoods and bathing their hands in warmth. Berg dragged him sideways into a thorny shrub before he’d even acclimatised to the sudden brightness.

For a moment they both just lay, panting.

‘That was horrendous.’ Berg moaned quietly. Gellert managed a moan in agreement.

‘Where’s Alice?’ He muttered, rolling over and tangling himself further into the vines as he tried to take a look. ‘Where are we?’

They had emerged into a completely different environment to the one they had left.The bush they had dived into was the only patch of green in sight, and even that was a dull green, caked with pale sand. The ground was hard stone, which swept up into towering mesas that cast deep, dramatic shadows. The portal that they had come through looked half finished and the pillars looked like they were naturally formed. More worryingly, he couldn’t see a single barrow built around it for protection. He nudged Berg and pointed that out, but Berg was looking with some horror at the runes carved into the stones.

‘This is a new portal.’ Berg brushed at the stone with the edge of his cloak, pointing at the runes as if there was something obvious about them that pointed this out.

‘New as in... unregistered?’ Gellert peered down the canyon-like path. Alice must have flown out of the area - the path looked completely impassable.

‘New as in, newly built.’ Gellert peered at the runes more closely. Berg was right, the carvings were sharp and clear, unlike the worn and almost illegible ones of the stones at home. ‘But they’ve fudged it. See here, there’s no identity clause.’

‘Identity clause?’ He had studied the stones at home with Hermione, but never learned the technical terms for anything.

‘It’s what lets the portal open to other portals. It’s like the portal is an owl, you’re the parcel and the portal identity lets the owl know where it is and where to go.’ Berg explained, still tracing runes.

‘So they’ve figured out a way to work it without, what’s the big deal?’ Gellert demanded, beginning to feel somewhat uneasy.

‘Well, without the identity, I think there’s a fair chance that portals won’t even register that they’ve been connected.’ The Tunninger heir explained.

‘And if the portal doesn’t register a successful connection, it won’t awaken the wraiths in the barrows...’ Gellert trailed off. A powerful piece of grey magic, barrow wraiths were supposedly the spirits of witches and wizards who had allowed themselves to be sacrificed in a ritual to allow them to defend a location beyond their deaths. The intricacies were lost to time, but he knew that every being that passed through a ring of barrows was assessed by the spirits within in accordance with the values of the family whose magic fuelled them. He didn’t actually know what happened to those who failed the test but he’d heard rumours and whatever it was, it was bad enough that many families didn’t bother with anything else on top. Of course, if this portal could get through without awakening the wrights at all, then hundreds of families around the world would be incredibly vulnerable.

‘We’ve got to warn the coven.’ Berg hissed, then paused. ‘Has your mother taught you how to open one of these yet?’

Worry settled in Gellert’s gut. He hadn’t been taught, nor, he guessed, had Berg. They were stuck until Alice came back.

Instead of sitting in the open area of the portal where anyone arriving could see them, they decided that they would try and climb up the weather-worn side of the canyon to get a better view of the area they were in.

Gellert had never climbed before and he was secretly relieved that it was Berg who suggested they cast a cushioning charm at the bottom of the cliff. He complied as the better caster of the two and began to climb with fervour. There was a nice ridge at head height, and he could curl his fingers over and a rock which was easy to perch on top of. He quickly spotted another handhold and reached for it, deciding that perhaps this was easy.

Thirty seconds later his left leg was jiggling disconcertingly in a precarious foothold and he was spread like a starfish across the hot rock as he stretched for the only potential hold in his very limited line of sight. His cheek was pressed against the wall, so he couldn’t look to his other side but he’d heard Berg’s terrified yelp only moments before and had been frozen for a moment before a half sob of relief let him know that the other boy was okay and his cushioning charm had held.

His fingers brushed the distant hold, but he couldn’t get a good grip on it. He returned his hand to the awkward knobble next to his gut, debating whether he should just jump for it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Berg on the ground, peering up at him. The boy waved his hands but was clearly reluctant to shout up. Then, Berg touched his finger to the palm of his other hand, several times. Gellert would have shaken his head if he didn’t think such a movement would throw him off the wall. Instead, he cautiously turned his head to the right to search for a better hold.

There was one, and eventually he heaved himself, panting and trembling, over the top of the rock face. Berg, who had somehow arrived before him was conjuring water from the tip of his wand straight into his mouth. Gellert made an unintelligible noise and Berg interpreted by pouring more conjured water down his gasping throat. Coughing and spluttering, Gellert sat up.

His hands were scraped and red, smeared with dark tan mud and dust. His shirt had a tear in where it had snagged on a rock as Berg dragged him over the edge.

Berg started summoning their winter furs from the bottom of the cliff where they’d been abandoned before the climb as Gellert caught his breath and looked around. They were on a large, flat plateau. About a hundred yards away the canyon they’d just climbed out of joined another, and several hundred past that, they joined onto a large valley that was pinpricked with towering rock formations that rose to the same height as the one he stood on now. It was slightly greener up here, with scraggly, sticky shrubs with very little greenery growing among brown rocks a little way back from the edge. Tan hills, built of rocks and mounded with sand soared up behind them and traced a dark line on the far horizon, across the flat birch brown flats and meandering scars of the canyon.

‘I think she’s over there.’ Berg pointed towards their left where the second canyon wound through the pale ground. If they were silent, he thought he could perhaps hear the sound of explosions and shouting from that direction. He nodded and they bundled up their winter clothing in their cloaks with the brown fur facing out. Once they’d sprinkled a bit of sand over them, they could have passed as rocks.

The sun was hotter than Gellert had ever felt and the very air seemed to shimmer around them. The heat seemed to create strange illusions of water in all the slight dips in the ground, which they quickly discovered were often filled with powdery sand that twisted beneath their feet and made walking difficult. He quickly became grateful that the strenuous exercise of traversing Durmstrang’s grounds had made him fit, but it certainly hadn’t prepared them for the heat. Their frequently cast cooling charms just couldn’t keep up and eventually both boys were pink and streaked with sweat.

The sun was just past it’s apex when they reached the canyon where they thought Alice was practicing. Both boys dropped to their stomachs and peered cautiously over the lip of the rock.

Alice was not alone.

Twelve people were duelling in the large, flat space below. It looked like an encampment of some sort with tan tents pitched in the shade of the rock walls, conjured chairs surrounding a fire and several beasts picketed to a post driven into the ground.

Alice was duelling short, red haired woman who wore spectacularly clashing crimson duelling robes. Both women’s wand’s flashed brightly, coloured jets and whooshes of flame flickering faster than Gellert could count each spell. Three wizards maintained a defensive ward around them, two of whom were clearly stronger as one third of the shield was somewhat milky in appearance. It obscured the face of a man whose voice they could hear barking instructions. He was tall and spoke in french, so Gellert couldn’t understand a word he spoke. He knew that Berg, on the other hand was fluent in the language, so he could ask for a translation later.

‘They’ve got some kind of beast guarding the entrance to the valley.’ Berg nodded his head towards the opening at one end and Gellert realised that the large rock was actually breathing.

‘What is it?’ He hissed, squinting. It was exactly the same colour as their surroundings and huge, with a strange lump at one end. What was unmistakable however was the dark chain that snaked over the ground and into a massive spike in the ground.

His attention snapped back to the wixen as the duel stopped suddenly. The shield around them fell and they saw the instructor for the first time. He wore long, cream coloured robes of light, breezy fabric that contrasted his dark, pointed beard. He carried a staff of pale, twisted wood with an orb in the top that looked like marble. The sharp crack of the metal tip striking stone reached them even across the distance between them.

The wizard flicked his hand and one of the others quickly hurried over, passing Alice a simple brown staff. For a moment the two squared off, then, quick as a snake the wizard lashed out with his weapon. Alice danced backwards, her spare hand deflecting the wall of fire that mirrored his movement.

The duel paused and Gellert didn’t need Berg to translate to know that Alice was being scolded. She said something back, the man swung his staff violently towards her. Desperately she brought her own up, intercepting it with a crack. Lightning sparked, but dissipated harmlessly but the wizard was already flicking the other end - this one with the metal spike - into a violent strike at her legs. Alice cried out, crumpling and the two boys hissed in sympathy.

She was a traitor, but that must have hurt.

‘Let’s crawl around, see if we can get a look at all of them. Mother might be able to identify them from our memories.’ Berg suggested and Gellert nodded. The two boys shuffled backwards from the ledge.

‘Hermione’s never used a staff before.’ Gellert muttered in concern once they’d reached a safe distance.

‘You can’t learn that in a couple of months either.’ Berg pointed out. Gellert took a deep, calming breath.

‘She’s strong, and her wandless magic has always been good. Perhaps it will be over before Alice gets close enough to use the staff.’ He suggested, knowing even a he said it that that was optimistic.

They recast their cooling charms quickly and conjured themselves water. Gellert’s skin was starting to feel tight across his face and it was uncomfortably warm to touch. He suspected he was sunburned, but the sensation was new and nothing like the pain Hermione had described. Perhaps he still had that to look forwards too?

They circled the depression easily, staying well back from the edges and out of sight. They dropped to their stomachs again and began the crawl forwards.

He felt the magic tinge in his outstretched arm a moment before the wailing split the air. There was a second of shocked silence where Gellert’s forgot to breathe, then he was scrambling to his feet and dragging Berg with him. For a moment the two boys dithered, then sprinted towards the hills behind them. Shouts echoed behind them, then an ear splitting crack split the air. Gellert threw up his best wandless shield, stumbling as a powerful spell skittered across it.

‘He can apparate!’ Berg wheezed in despair.

Gellert skidded to a halt, spinning nearly and slicing across his body with his wand. He cast again and again, then Berg joined him. They fired off everything they could, as quickly as they could. Apparition was a tricky skill and Gellert hoped they could catch the wizard as he recovered. A silver shield flashed, once, twice, a third time, then Berg’s blasting curse impacted soundly at the wizard’s feet. The cliff-edge that the man stood on collapsed beneath his feet and he dropped with it.

‘Good work.’ Acknowledged Gellert.

‘They’ve got beasts. We need to keep moving.’ The other boy replied quickly and they both took off again. Behind them he could hear people shouting and cursing, but the sound quickly faded beneath the pounding of his boots as the heaving of his breath.

The small green shrubs were spiky and snagged at their clothes but the two boys forged through, tearing their clothes and drawing blood as they scrambled to put more distance between them and the mean in the cave.

‘Sticking charms on your hands and feet.’ Berg wheezed as they reached the first short, rocky outcrop.

‘I knew you were cheating last time.’ Gellert wheezed in reply, casting the charms and jumping at the cliff. It was much easier to climb, perhaps a combination of adrenaline and the sticking charms and in a moment he was helping Berg up and over the edge. They first of their pursuers had launched up out of the gully now and winging his way quickly towards them, eating up the ground that they had just covered. Berg snatched urgently at his arm and he turned, taking off up the hill again.

They reached the top just as a bright purple bolt of flame crashed into the sand about half a foot from them. Gellert swore, a word that he’d learned at school and would have had his mother breaking his jaw.

Berg cast several jinxes with impressive accuracy and forced the lead pursuer to dip and dive precariously. The two boys dashed down the slope, scrambling over rocks. Gellert fell, rolling down the hill in a tumble of sand and shale and narrowly missing the curse that melted the rock he’d just tripped over to slag. He cast three more jinxes from his landing spot, then scrambled up as Berg careened past.

‘There!’ Berg altered course slightly, running towards the closet of another spiderweb of canyons. They continued to fire spells over their shoulders and ran in erratic, zig zagging lines to ty and avoid spellfire. Fortunately it seemed casting from the back of a flying mount was difficult.

They were almost at the canyon when the first of the beast swooped down, clawed hippogriff feet outstretched. Gellert hit the floor, dragging Berg down with him even as a hoof landed solidly in the small of his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. He cried out, casting blindly behind him. A squark of pain suggested he had scored a hit, but he didn’t look, allowing Berg to drag him back to his feet to scramble a couple of paces more.

‘Canyon... narrow... can’t fit.’ Berg wheezed as they reached the edge.

‘Jump.’ Gellert advised, just before something slammed into him from behind. His wand slipped out fo his hand, twirling into the shadows below. Talons closed around his waist and he jerked his elbow backwards, catching a hard knee end probably hurting himself more than the beast. Then, as the wings beat and the ground started to draw away, he punched his hand upwards, reaching into his magic and forcing it out.

His flaming fist caught the bird in the throat and it screeched, dropping him. He plummeted, the ground shooting up to meet him. He shot between the narrow, rocky overhang of the canyon, closed his eyes.

And opened them again.

He was lying on an exquisitely soft, slightly spongy rock. Berg was a couple of yards away, his wand pointed at him.

Gellert let his head drop back in relief.

‘Good catch. Thanks.’ He said.

‘We don’t have much time. They might not be able to fly down here, but as soon as they land they’ll follow us on foot.’ Berg was grinning though, as relieved as Gellert that the spell had caught him and Gellert was even more delighted when Berg managed to summon his wand from the ledge it had landed on.

‘That way.’ Gellert decided, pointing down hill. Berg nodded and they jogged off, diving into the shadows every time a beast soared overhead.

‘Here, there’s a cave of some sort.’ Berg whispered as they ducked out of view once more. They both shuffled deeper into the darkness.

‘You don’t think there’s anything nasty down here, do you?’ Gellert whispered nervously when they failed to reach the back of the cave after a couple of steps.

‘Nothing nastier than up there.’ Berg decided. A faint witchlight flickered to life in his palm and he held it up to reveal a narrow tunnel that looked entirely natural, winding away from them at a slight incline.

‘Lets levitate a rock in front of the entrance and hide here until they stop looking.’ Gellert decided. They didn’t have to do much as there was already a boulder quite close and a little bit of finicky joint spell work had it settled nicely across the entrance, obscuring all but the tiniest sliver of light.

Gellert cast another witchlight, holding it in the palm of his off hand and keeping his wand drawn in the other. Cautiously, the two boys followed the cave system up the hill, half expecting yet more misfortune to befall them.

The incline suddenly became steeper, then the cave widened out slightly. Large stalactites and stalagmites speared the darkness like the teeth of some dreadful beast, but otherwise the cave seemed entirely benign. To be sure, the boys scoured every surface, crack and boulder before choosing a pair of rocks near the sandy wall to settle on.

Within moments Gellert’s entire body was aching and he suddenly became aware of the warm trickle of blood running from several injuries.

‘You look terrible.’ Berg said, peering at his own assortment of injuries.

‘So do you.’ Gellert replied. His trousers were shredded, but the damage beneath was mostly minor scratches and a couple of bruises that he was sure would be impressive in a couple of days time. His back was another story, it ached fiercely and his head hurt too - he probably hit it in one of his many falls. The nastiest injuries were from where the talons of the beast had pierced his hips when it grabbed him. Two nasty punctures the size of his little finger wept blood on each side, and he was certain from the warmth at the waistline of his underwear that there was a matching one at the back.

Berg seemed to know a healing spell for his bruises as the boy tapped the bad ones with his wand, muttered an incantation and swelling disappeared.

‘Don’t suppose you could do me?’ Gellert grunted.

‘Sure, if you can transfigured something into some cloth. I need to mop up this blood.’ Berg gestured to a rather nasty gash on his knee. Gellert complied and a moment later he had a couple of tan handkerchiefs instead of a handful of rocks. As Berg tended to his back, Gellert transfigured a slightly larger rock into a stone bowl and filled it with water. The two boys washed as best they could with the cloths, managing to remove the worst of the dirt and blood, then Gellert had to hold still as Berg cleaned the nasty injuries on his hips.

Then, when they had fixed the worst of their problems, the two boys settled back on their rocks.

‘We’re stuck here.’ Berg was the one to voice what they were both thinking. ‘Alice has gone home for sure, we’ll have missed the portal back to Durmstrang.’ Gellert remained silent, wishing they’d told someone where they were going. As it was, they were alone with no food and no healing. He hadn’t felt this worried even when he’d been caught by Livius Lucan.


	36. Calculating

Hermione was pulled out of class just before morning break on Monday which completely scuppered her plans. She was lead by one of the upper years to the headmaster’s office, tucked away next to the reception. Curious, but not yet nervous, she knocked on the door.

She was surprised to see her parents sat opposite the headmaster who had a thick folder open on his desk. He smiled at her and she grimaced, it was never good to have one’s parents called to school like this.

She was offered a seat - one of the hard, red plastic ones that she sat in during class and she settled primly, unconsciously applying all of her lessons in deportment so that she looked more like a princess than a schoolgirl. The headmaster watched her for a moment, and Hermione glanced sideways at her parents, who were watching the headmaster. She turned back to the headmaster.

He was a balding man with the beginnings of a paunch, his suit jacket was slightly too large at the shoulders but fitted well enough otherwise. Hermione’s father had always been lucky enough to fit the primark suits as though they were tailored to him, but she guessed most people weren’t that fortunate, so unless they could afford a tailor their suits would never be perfect. Her own school dress was cinched tighter with a wide white ribbon and she’d tied matching ribbons around her wrists and middle fingers. It was the latest trend at school; one that she had started of course.

They sat in silence for a long time and Hermione had to fight to keep the smile off her face. Perhaps the adults were trying to get her to talk first, but they had nothing on Lady Grindelwald. She could sit in silence, working on her Occlumency all day.

Finally, her father broke.

‘So, what did you call us all here for?’ The adults all stirred, and the headmaster cleared his throat, shuffling the papers in the file.

‘I wanted to discuss Hermione’s progress report.’ He began.

‘Isn’t that usually done at the parent-teacher conference?’ Her father interrupted, looking concerned for the first time. ‘Hermione’s marks aren’t bad.’

‘No, that’s exactly the point. Her grades are exemplary, but there were certain subjects in particular I wished to address with you.’ He pulled six pieces of paper out of the folder, laying them out so Hermione’s parents could read them. She leaned forwards too, noticing her most recent German assignment, an English assignment and a history essay. She couldn’t see anything wrong with them; the handwriting was neat but not excessive like the letter writing script Gellert often used.

‘They seem well written, detailed...’ Her mother put the English assignment back on the table.

‘Well yes, that’s just it. The level of the work is particularly high when performed at home, however we have noticed that Hermione seems to distracted in class.’

‘You mean she doesn’t have any friends?’ Her father asked in resignation. The headmaster’s bushy brows rose in surprise and he glanced at Hermione quickly.

‘Oh no, she has a whole following of friends. I wondered if you had German relatives?’

Both of Hermione’s parents straightened and shared puzzled looks.

‘Not that I’m aware of?’ Her father finally said, looking back at the Headmaster. Cool fear was beginning to trickle through Hermione’s chest, freezing her heart and squirming in her stomach.

‘Her German teacher found this tucked into the back of her notebook.’ The headmaster pulled out another sheet of paper and laid it on the desk. Hermione recognised it instantly as a drafted reply to Gellert’s most recent letter. It wasn’t too incriminating, she decided; children had imaginary friends all the time, except...

‘We were unaware Hermione was fluent in German.’ The headmaster finished.

‘Fluent?’ Hermione’s mother said, dumbstruck.

‘Her teacher informed me that this is well beyond GCSE language skills, although some of the terminology is a little dated. She also commended Hermione’s imagination, this is a rough translation.’ The headmaster pulled out yet another sheet of paper, this one covered in the scrawl of her German teacher’s handwriting. Her mother took it and scanned through the writing, taking several minutes to read it, then passing the paper to Hermione’s father.

‘I have a pen friend.’ Hermione preempted, ‘They had a signup sheet at the post office and when I learned that he was German, I took out several books to learn.’

They really had had a pen pal signup sheet at the post office. Hermione had seen it when she took a bundle of letters down for her mother, but she hadn’t signed up. Now that Gellert was at school it was basically like having a pen friend anyway and she saw no need to have another.

‘We found talking about everyday school was boring, so we each made up magic schools to go to.’ She added, deciding to cover that base too. Her headmaster looked at her for a long time whilst Hermione’s mother glanced over the original German sheet. She resisted the urge to shift awkwardly, digging her nails into her palms instead.

‘Well, Hermione, I’m very impressed that you’ve managed to learn another language like this...’ Her father started and Hermione restrained her groan. What followed was one of the most embarrassing scoldings she’d ever received - in front of an audience, for something she knew very well was bad and hadn’t actually done. The only positive was that it gave her an excuse as to where her pocket money had been going rather than admitting that she’d been spending it on Kevlar sailcloth for her Longma’s wings.

Eventually her parents insisted that she give them Gellert’s address so that they could write to his mother and the scolding finally finished. The headmaster looked pleased, as though he had done her parents a great favour and Hermione couldn’t help but want to jinx that look off his face.

‘In the meantime, I would suggest that perhaps Hermione learn another language instead. We have several options on offer; she’s studying French already, but perhaps Spanish?’ The headmaster suggested. Hermione’s nose wrinkled.

‘Russian.’ She decided. Her parents heads snapped around and the headmaster’s eyes bugged slightly.

‘Why would you want to learn Russian?’ Her father demanded, sounding horrified.

‘Its usually a good idea to learn a widespread language, such as Spanish or perhaps Mandarin?’ The headmaster suggested. ‘We already have a teacher that comes in to teach Mandarin to several students.’

Hermione frowned. Tension was still rife with Russia in the muggle world, despite the recent changes. What she didn’t know was whether that attitude was mirrored in the wizarding world. In 1890, the relationship between Germany and Russia was certainly friendly but neither country seemed particularly fond of the British. She had no way of knowing what the current magical political situation was and as such no idea which language would be most beneficial. So, she would chose the language which she had the most chance of practicing and Gellert spoke Russian, rather than Mandarin.

‘Definitely Russian.’ She decided, ‘Gellert, my pen friend, has been learning Russian. We can practice that language too when we write.’

Her parents agreed reluctantly but she had known they eventually would. Her parents were strong believers in learning, but they also believed in learning what interested you rather than struggling through something that didn’t. The rest of the meeting consisted of the adults making arrangements for a tutor and agreeing on supplementary payments. She tuned out, already concentrating on how to rescue the plans she’d put in place this morning.

Today, she would be the first in her year to get a boyfriend. She’d chosen her mark carefully; Sam Whiteside was a year above, had smooth, clear skin and soft looking blond hair. He shared few of the aristocratic good looks of her friends in Germany, but he was passable enough to the inexperienced girls of her year group. Most importantly though, he wasn’t mind numbingly boring.

A part of her remembered a year ago when she’d never have considered going near a boy - until she’d met Gellert, she’d thought them loud, dirty and boring. She would never have considered asking someone out, and defiantly not for social gain rather than actual romantic feelings. Perhaps the 19th Century attitude to young marriage was affecting her more than she’d thought.

She’d been studying Sam in preparation for today and she’d learned that he spent morning break playing football on the field with the other boys in his year. She was aware that her social status made her desirable enough, and she thought he was interested in her because he’d blushed when she fluttered her eyelashes at him in the corridors. She had dressed particularly nicely today, choosing the white ribbons because they made her tanned skin look like warm caramel and made her eyes sparkle prettily. She’d even snuck some of her mother’s lipgloss for the occasion. She had planned to corner him just before they started playing the game when nobody was watching but everyone was likely to overhear and there was an entire break for word to spread.

That plan was ruined of course, she’d have to ask him at lunch which wasn’t ideal because he always spent it doing homework in the library. There would be less people watching, but she could hardly not ask him today; she’d been building her circle up to it for ages.

Double art seemed to take hours. Jessica kept making pointed remarks about how she’d chickened out, despite Hermione’s explanation (with plentiful eye rolls and emphatic “like seriously”s) being eaten up by the rest of the group. Her effort at recreating pop-art was passable at best and she accidentally answered two questions in a row without the obligatory uhms in History.

Sam was in the library as expected at lunch, already pouring over a quiz about tectonic plates. She checked to make sure her reflection looked good in the little window in the door, then pushed it open before she could change her mind.

She hovered for a long couple of seconds behind his chair before he finally looked up. She swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling like she was up against Lady Grindelwald.

‘Hermione, isn’t it. You’re Jessica’s friend.’ He said. Hermione scowled internally - she did not want to be known as “Jessica’s friend” to anyone, particularly not the boy she was about to ask out... even if she didn’t actually like him.

‘Yes, but we’re not actually that close. I’m better friends with Lily really, and Jessica is her friend.’ She babbled, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She hesitated, wondering if it would be best to just as outright, or whether one was meant to have a long conversation before asking someone out. Her decision was made when he began to turn back to his homework, making it clear he didn’t really want to participate in idle chatter.

‘I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me?’ She blurted, then blushed as red as her school uniform. That was a particularly inelegant way to express herself. Sam froze, then turned to face her again.

‘What?’

‘I was rather hoping that we could spend some time together, on a date.’ She elaborated.

‘No.’ Sam said bluntly, turning back to his work.

Hermione gaped like a fish, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to muster some sort of response to that. She had expected a maybe as a worst case scenario, one where she could perhaps invite him to spend time to get to know her but never had she imagined such an outright refusal.

‘Why?’ She finally managed.

‘Because you’re just using me to get more popular.’ Sam slapped his pencil to the table with a sharp clack. ‘I’m not interested in being used, especially if it means I have to put up with some pretty airhead all the time. I’m trying to get good eleven plus results, so that I can go to a good school. I don’t need your drama.’

Rage flooded through Hermione.

‘I am not an airhead!’ She hissed, her hair almost sparking with her fury. She had to violently shove her magic down as it reacted to her emotions.

‘No? You certainly seem like one - queen bee of your little clique, nattering away constantly about ribbons and celebrities.’

She was speechless, fury coursing through her but unable to really deny what he was saying. The front she presented to the rest of the school really was quite airheaded. She did natter about ribbons and celebrities, she deliberately didn’t answer questions or work too hard in class. He saw exactly what she wanted the school to see and now it was working against her. She couldn’t even argue that it was unfair because it really was a situation of entirely her own making.

‘I’ll have you know, I’m top of the class in every subject. I’m fluent in German and I have never scored less than an A.’ She finally hissed indignantly. She could not fail at this, absolutely could not return to her “clique” having been turned down so thoroughly, especially not because he thought she was stupid!

‘Really? I would never have guessed.’ Sam replied snarkily. With a frustrated huff, Hermione threw up her hands.

‘I pretend to be stupid, okay?’ She spat, ‘because otherwise I wouldn’t have any friends. I was miserable at my last school, so I made myself a new person when I moved here.’

Sam was regarding her with more interest now, a slightly calculating expression on his face that she found vaguely unsettling; it didn’t suit his soft, angelic features.

‘So now your new person needs a boyfriend?’ He demanded, more softly this time.

‘No, I need an excuse to not go to the Halloween party. I was planning to have an argument so that I had an excuse to not go.’ She admitted. To her surprise Sam barked out a laugh.

‘You really are bitch.’ He said, but there was a smile on his face that she found incredibly confusing. The young witch had no idea where she stood now, his words and body language told two very different stories. She wished she had the instinctive legilimency skills that would let her casually peruse people’s thoughts so that she knew what he was thinking.

‘I prefer the term calculating.’ Hermione eventually said primly. Sam laughed again.

‘Okay, I had you pegged completely wrong. You seem fun enough to be around, so we can pretend to date if you want.’ He acquiesced finally. Hermione found herself gawping like a fish again.

‘Pretend?’ She asked eventually.

‘Yes, pretend. You don’t like me, I don’t like you, but it works for both of us. You get to bail out of this party without ruining your cred, I get to shut up the rumours.’

‘Rumours?’ She asked, a chill trickling through her.

‘Yes. Nancy’s been telling everyone I’m gay because I didn’t want to dance with her last New Years.’

Hermione smiled faintly, then quickly pulled her own homework out of her bag. It was a German one that she was now fairly sure she didn’t have to complete but she didn’t want to ruin her perfect record just in case. She spent the rest of lunch with her new pretend boyfriend, allowing herself to be academically brilliant at school for the first time in months.


	37. Beast

His stomach ached with hunger which could no longer be ignored by inane games. They’d counted the stalactites, compared them to the stalacmites, practiced transfiguration and melding their magic. They’d slept for hours and hours on softened rocks and throughly lost track of time. His injuries ached and itched, and the puncture wounds around his hips had started to smell and weep pus whenever Berg changed the bandages.

Knowing that they would only get weaker from now on, they’d decided to leave now and attempt to steal mounts. Hours and hours had gone into creating what was realistically a very vague plan. They had decided to walk along the canyon rather than across the flats, reasoning that they were far less likely to be seen and that there was more cover if they did end up having to fight. They waited until the sun was just beginning to set, casting the canyon in deep, purple shadows before making their move.

They levitated the rock covering the entrance of the cave back out of the way, then waited for five long minutes to see if anyone would react. Both boys breathed a sigh of relief when there was no reaction which meant that this canyon at least was not being watched.

They crept out, sticking to the deepest showdown near the wall as they made their way downhill. They rocks were unstable, and occasionally one of them would slip, sending pebbles skittering away down the slope. They’d both freeze, knuckles white around their wands incase they’d warned someone of their approach but every time there was no motion is response.

‘Do you think they’ve stopped looking for us?’ Berg whispered. ‘I bet we were down there for days.’

Gellert grunted in reply. His hips hurt every time he had to take a large step down and he could feel the slight coolness that suggested he’d bled through another strip of torn shirt. Perhaps Berg hadn’t been expecting a more detailed answer because he continued down the track regardless.

They came to the first fork just after dark fell fully but after the complete darkness of the cave, neither felt the need to cast a witchlight. They paused for a drink and a quick rest, Berg changed the wrappings around Gellert’s waist, his expression grave. The air was warm enough that neither boy was particularly sorry to have lost their cloaks but it felt particularly cool against the inflamed skin around the injuries.

‘We’ve got to get back quickly.’ Berg pointed out. If the boy hadn’t also chosen that moment to press a damp rag to the injury, Gellert would have agreed. As it was, his reply was lost in a hiss of pain and clatter of rock as his body spasmed.

‘Let’s just keep moving.’ He gritted out once the pain had faded and his waist was neatly wrapped again.

‘This isn’t it?’ The other boy asked, peering up the fork that hadn’t come from.

‘No hoof prints. They had a pair of sleipnir.’

‘Right.’ Berg agreed, helping Gellert up.

The moon was casting a steady silver light down into the canyon by the time they spotted the first hoofprint in the sand. The canyon was much wider here and the ground flatter which made travelling much easier, but the cover was far less frequent.

They slowed, walking more cautiously as they followed a winding path up a gentle incline. They remembered all too clearly the screeching alarm that had alerted their foes last time. They had no idea what the spell was, nor how to counter it. Their plan was simply to cross the encampment as quickly as possible and try to steal a mount before anyone really woke up enough to stop them. They would be using Hermione’s patented sticking-charm-on-seat instead of saddles and whatever headgear the mounts were wearing already, along with a desperate hope that the beasts would comply.

A hand on his arm pulled Gellert to a sudden stop, and they flattened themselves against the wall as something stirred in the moonlight.

‘It’s that beast.’ Berg breathed.

They were much, much closer than Gellert would have liked to it. From this distance he could easily make out the smooth, hooked beak that was as long as his arm, talons as thick as his waist and a wingspan with feathers bigger than he was.

‘What is it?’ He whispered. It was obviously some kind of bird, but he’d never heard of a bird big enough to pass as a dragon.

‘Dunno, but its not happy.’ The Tunninger son lifted his chin in the direction of the massive manacle that clamped around the beast’s leg.

‘You think it’s intelligent?’ Gellert whispered. Berg shrugged. ‘I’m going to find out.’ He decided, slipping forwards and out of range of Berg’s grasping hand.

The beast noticed him almost immediately, lifting it’s massive head to face him.

Gellert made soothing noises and was somewhat reassured when the beast made no more move to stop him. Until it suddenly snapped at him.

He froze.

The beast subsided.

He tried again, but a soon as he lifted his foot, the beast’s beak yawned open.

He placed his foot back on the sand and the bird settled again. One big eye remained fixed on him as the massive head drooped back down to rest on a rock. Now that he was closer, he could see that the bird really was in bad shape; its feathers were dirty and several large clumps were missing. The neck was scrawny and the manacled foot wept as much blood as the wounds on his own body.

‘Hey, my name is Gellert Grindelwald.’ He whispered. The bird blinked. ‘My friend and I need to get out of here or the people back there will kill us.’ The bird blinked again, then to his great surprise it shifted, looking up the canyon in he direction of the camp, then back to Gellert again.

‘Do you think it could fly us?’ Berg whispered, coming up from behind him and standing as still as a statue as the mighty beast eyed them up.

‘Yeah, you could.’ Gellert said to the bird. It blinked again. ‘You could come home with me, my family have a huge estate with mountains and forests and wards to keep the muggles out.’ The bird cocked his head at him. ‘We could get a magizoologist to look at your feet and feathers, I bet those hurt. You’d never have to wear it again.’

The nodded head was unmistakable and the two boys shared a wild grin. They were going home!

‘Right, I recon that alarm spell is just in front of us, that bird didn’t want me to take another step forwards. So, as soon as we move forwards, they’re going to know we’re here.’ Gellert began, a new energy infusing him and numbing the pain and grumbling of his stomach.

‘Sure, so, I’ll climb up as soon as we’re over if you blast that chain off. Then I can help you up.’ Berg continued, the same fire in his eyes. They both looked to the bird who shook it’s head in an unmistakable negative. It stood, the chain clinching and rattling, claws scrabbling against rock, spreading it’s wings until they hit the rock wall on either side.

‘Oh.’ Berg said softly. ‘It widens out down there, you might be able to make it?’

The bird shook it’s head again, then swung it’s beak around to face the encampment behind them.

‘Ooh.’ Berg said, this time with more emphasis. That was a far more dangerous plan as they would have to pass deeper into enemy territory, but Gellert was willing to believe the bird if it thought that was the only way.

‘Right, Berg, you can cast blasting curses at the top of the rocks, maybe you can get some of them to collapse like you did the other day. Maybe we can get a couple of them trapped in their tents. I’ll do my best from the ground, and you can scoop me up in your claws as you take off. I’ll be able to keep casting from there.’ Gellert decided, already bracing himself. There was no disagreement.

‘Ready, Go!’ Berg shouted as he jumped forwards over the invisible line. The screeching klaxon split the night air as Gellert’s spell blasted the links of the chain to pieces. He didn’t wait a minute, scrambling forwards, dodging the trailing tail plume of the bird. Shouts rose above the wailing alarm and lights flared to life in a ring around the tents. A spell shot overhead, crashing into the cliff and sending it crumbing. The very ground shook as boulders the size of a horse thundered down, crushing one tent entirely and sending the mounts plunging on their tethers and smaller stones glanced off their hides. Dust rose up into the air, obscuring the remaining tents as another red jet of light flew from behind him, bringing down another cliff. Berg gave a triumphant whoop, which was hastily stifled as their opponents marshalled enough to return fire. The bird was a big target and entirely unable to dodge, which left Berg to perform some impressive shield charms as Gellert desperately supported him with a hasty barrage of curses aimed at bringing down more rock.

The shadow of the bird’s wings stretching over his head was a welcome relief and he threw himself upwards, grabbing onto a clawed foot as it swept overhead. With his wand held between his teeth, he swung beneath the claw like a human pendulum as spells shot around them. He was hanging onto the rear claw, and a moment later the three front talons curled up underneath him and he pulled his legs up until he was astride the central toe, riding it like a broomstick. Huge wings beat frantically either side of them, desperately gaining height and speed as several smaller, more nimble beasts launched into the air behind them.

Berg was still casting and Gellert joined him, his shield charm glittering as he did his best to deflect every spell that came within dangerous range. The pursuers were much quicker, their mounts fit and healthy despite being much smaller and he could soon see their faces and wand movements as they cast. It became harder to deflect their spells as the two lead mounts drew even with them, so he had to keep an eye on both sides and behind. He could hear Berg shouting something, but he didn’t know what.

Then suddenly the bird dipped and wheeled around. The claw next to Gellert dropped and stretched out, and they slammed into one of the mounts beside them. There was a sharp hippogriff screech, a french shout of surprise and pain, then the sharp snap of bones. The giant bird’s claws opened, the crippled hippogriff dropping away like a leaf in the turbulence of the much bigger animals wings.

By this point the rest of the group were upon them. He cursed a witch on a Granian as the ducked beneath the deadly giant claw, then managed to nail an Abraxan in the muzzle with a swelling jinx. The wheezing mount drifted towards the ground as his rider desperately tried to fix the damage. The massive wing to his left caught another one of their enemies with a crunch of bone. A bright flash of fire engulfed another beast, courtesy of Berg. The remaining mounts drew back to a safe distance and the bird carrying the two boys wheeled again making another desperate bid for freedom.

They hadn’t gotten off scot free though. Hot, thick blood spattered Gellert with every wingbeat and he could hear the bird wheezing. He couldn’t do anything to fix those problems, but he could relieve them of a significant amount of weight.

Ignoring the throbbing of the injuries at his waist, he tucked his legs up underneath him, reached for the rear claw above and carefully stood up, grasping first onto the claw, then the fluffy plumage of the bird’s belly. Carefully, he made his way up the leg until he reached the iron manacle that clamped tightly around the delicate skin.

Cutting charms were relatively new to his repertoire and he didn’t dare use them this high up, so he took a page from Hermione’s book instead. Hermione had never understood the concept of how magic worked, which he would have thought a hinderance if he hadn’t seen the way she just... did things. He’d felt her just push their joint magic at things, and will something to happen and often her magic would fill in the gaps for her. So, he pushed his magic into the metal and thought about it breaking with every fibre of his being. He felt the temperature drop, the metal becoming painfully cold beneath his hands. The bird jerked uncomfortably, then their was a sound like cracking ice and the manacle snapped, falling away into the darkness. There was a grateful squark, and the pace picked up slightly, the foot that held Gellert tucking more tightly into the warm feathers. The tail lifted, streamlining and finally, they started to really draw away from those that followed them. The steady, powerful wingbeats eating up the miles beneath them at a pace the smaller mounts just couldn’t sustain.

He was just beginning to think that they should land, when a cloud passed over the moon, plunging them into darkness. They dropped like a stone, air rushing past them as the wings tucked in along the bird’s sides. A moment later, the wings snapped open with a powerful whoosh and the deceleration almost unseated him. The legs extended and realising what was about to happen, Gellert hastily scrambled onto the top side of the extended talons. A moment later they landed with jarring impact, the wings flapped twice for balance, then the bird dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding crushing him as he was thrown from his seat.

He lay winded on the ground as the moon popped out from behind the cloud, bathing them in light again. Far up in the sky, he watched six figures swoop above them in hot pursuit of... nothing. Rolling sideways he saw that the bird had tucked its huge head beneath a wing and looked, for all intents and purposes, like a large mound in the darkness.

They were free.


	38. Locum

‘Missing’ Hermione repeated flatly. The corner of Lady Grindelwald’s mouth quirked slightly at the young witch’s tone despite the terrible situation.

‘Correct, the school believes that Gellert has run away, along with Mr. Tunninger. He has taken his mount, but nothing else. Mr. Tunninger’s hippogriff is apparently still stabled.’ Lady Grindelwald held out the scroll that had interrupted their lesson and the young witch flicked it open with a movement as sharp as her building temper.

‘This isn’t right, Gellert wouldn’t run away and Berg loves his hippogriff; its a nasty tempered beast but he insists on riding it.’ She fell silent as she read further down the letter, her disbelief and outrage growing with every line. ‘Three days?’ She finally hissed, livid.

‘Yes.’ Lady Grindelwald pursed her lips. ‘It took them three days to notify me that my son and heir has gone missing.’

To anyone else, Lady Grindelwald would have looked unconcerned but Hermione knew her well. The matriarch’s eyes flashed with fury, her nails tapped the arm of her carved chair in agitation and her magic broiled with fear.

‘Finding him is of immediate priority.’ The lady announced and Hermione jumped up quickly, he want already ready in her hand.

‘I’m coming with you.’ She declared, a determined fire in her eyes to match that of her matriarch. The older woman regarded her with pride, standing and gliding around the desk to lay a deceptively delicate hand on her shoulder.

‘I admire your courage, but I need you to fulfil other duties whilst I am occupied. The interests of the family and coven must still be seen to; Durmstrang has greatly slighted us by failing to care for the family heir and arrangements still need to be made for Samhain, which draws ever closer.’ Hermione dithered for a moment, torn between her need to find Gellert and her loyalty to the family. The matriarch knelt do that their heads were at the same level, her silken skirts pooling around her.

‘Hermione, you are the second heir. I cannot search for him if you will not take on the responsibilities that your position entails.’

Hermione swallowed before straightening and nodding in acceptance.

‘I will go to Durmstrang and seek an apology, then I will request assistance from Anneken in organising the Samhain ritual. I will not let the family down.’ She vowed, curtsying formally. Lady Grindelwald was a powerful witch, Hermione reminded herself. She would find Gellert and Hermione would do whatever she could to help; if the more experienced witch needed her to hold down the fort here, then that is what she would do. Lady Grindelwald smiled proudly, slipping one of the rings off her finger and passing it to Hermione.

‘This is the family seal, I know that this is a lot of responsibility but I know that you will do me proud.’ Lady Grindelwald stood in a rustle of silk, making her way back around the desk. ‘Now, this is the guest list for Samhain, you’ll find matters of business and finance in this cabinet, the elves will deliver reports into this tray here, business letters to this one and personal correspondence will be left here. I would suggest you draw on a little of that fire to deal with the Durmstrang headmaster - remember that you are the locum matriarch of the family and he should respect you as such.’

The advice that Lady Grindelwald rattled off over the next half an hour left Hermione reeling but no less determined. The family seal felt heavy on her fingers, and metaphorically ill-fitting, despite having magically resized the moment it slipped onto her finger.

‘Should you need to raise the wards, the elves will talk you through it. Do not hesitate to send one to me for assistance if you require it.’

Then Hermione was alone in the huge, echoing halls of the castle. It seemed darker and colder now that she was alone, and every doorway suddenly seemed to hide a dark wizard about to snatch her away. An owl screeched in the grounds and an elf dropped something in the kitchens, the noises carrying far further than they usually did now that she was alone and hyper aware of them.

She took a deep breath and summoned Flighty. The elf appeared with a pop, Klein - the head elf, appearing at her shoulder like a shadow. Both elves bowed until their noses brushed the marble floor, then straightened, waiting expectantly for her orders. Another pang of loneliness surged through her but it was steeled by determination to do her best.

‘Flighty, I need my battle dress and fur cloak, hat and gloves. Klein, can you see to it that someone has Katana saddled in full dress. I am going to Durmstrang, and I need to make an impression.’

‘It would be our honour, Missy Hermione. Klein has the perfect cloak in mind, Missy Hermione. Might Klein fetch Missy Hermione’s cloak and dress whilst Flighty gets Katana ready.’ Klein bowed again, and Hermione nodded in agreement. She fully trusted the experienced head elf to attend her appearance. In the meantime, she turned to the desk and rummage through the various sheets of parchment that had been left out for her until she found the instructions for opening the portal. She perused it as Klein arranged her hair, surmising that the process was simple enough.

‘Missy is ready.’ Klein announced, stepping back and snapping his fingers. A tall mirror appeared in front of her and Hermione took in her appearance with some surprise. She had been right to trust the head elf; her hair was tightly braided into a long tail down her back and her lapis comb secured a delicate chain circlet around her forehead. She’d been dressed in the black duelling robes that had been given to her over summer, but with a thick navy underdress, trimmed with fur to keep her warm. She was handed a set of matching blue leather gloves to wear under the gauntlets and she pulled them on as she strode down to the courtyard, Klein trailing behind her with a thick bundle of fur in his arms.

‘Missy mustn’t forget her cloak, or her portal instructions. Klein also brings the letter for Missy, so that she may prove to the headmaster how remiss he was in his duty.’ She took the two pieces of parchment from the elf, tucking them into the chest plate of the robes after a moment of consideration - as cool as the outfit was, it didn’t have any pockets. They paused in the courtyard so that the elf could arrange the fur cloak around her shoulders. It was stormy grey and white, made of fluffy fur with the upper jaw of the fenrir it had come from acting as the hood. Once she’d been assured the fenrir had died of old age (‘look Missy, the fur is grey. Young Fenrirs is black.’), she really liked it. Mounted on Katana, she felt like Eowyn from Lord of the Rings, riding out to battle.

The portal opened exactly as it was meant to on the first try and she rode through it with false confidence.

They emerged into a winter wonderland. The afternoon sunlight glistened on freshly fallen snow, marred only by the deep gouges where a beast had recently taken flight. Rainbows refracted off icicles that hung from deep green pines. A dramatic peak soared up ahead of her, dark cliffs and pure snow clear against a pale blue sky. Katana stirred, his head shooting up as he eyeballed the tree line and she patted his smooth neck to soothe him, then to her surprise he let out one of his draconian screeches, rib cage swelling beneath her with the sound. It echoed back and forth around them, jumping off the mountains and, Hermione thought, summarily announcing to everyone that they were there.

To her surprise, a very familiar screeching whinny replied, not from somewhere along the track ahead, but instead from somewhere in the trees to her left.

‘Wait here.’ She ordered Katana, swinging smoothly from his tall back and landing in the deep snow with a crunch. She was very glad for the soft, knee high boots that came with the duelling outfit as she tramped through the deep snow around the portal, stumbled over a barrow and finally reached the relatively clear ground beneath the pines.

There, looking more miserable than she’d ever seen him was Kelpie. He was huddled beneath a tree, head hung low and crusty ice formed over his naturally slick coat. He watched her approach dolefully, and snuffled around her for treats when she ran her hands over his neck and legs, searching for any injury. He seemed fine, other than being cold and hungry, and she gathered up the dangling reins, leading the beast back to where Katana waited.

The two beasts exchanged a conversation of squarks, nickers and throaty purrs as Hermione negotiated remounting her tall horse, with the assistance of a conveniently steep barrow.

With flying now out of the question, she made her way along the obvious track through the trees. Katana slipped and skidded on the hard ground beneath the snow, whilst Kelpie trod with weary, practiced steps that suggested the beast had spent considerable time traversing the frozen grounds.

They emerged from the forest and out onto a windswept ridge which sent the heavy fur cloak around her shoulders stirring and Katana’s gossamer mane swirling around his antlers. They drew lots of attention from the crimson dressed students they passed, eventually gaining a bit of an entourage as curious children followed them up towards a squat castle nestled at the base of the castle.

There were a huge variety of students already gathered in the courtyard when she arrived, standing behind a tall, white haired man in blood red robes. He was obviously the headmaster, as his white fur cloak was emblazoned with a Durmstrang crest over his heart and several other facultative members stood at his shoulders. A murder of different languages swept over the courtyard as she pulled Katana to a stop, Kelpie stopping a moment later.

There was silence.

‘Forgive me, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.’ The headmaster finally said. Hermione raised her chin haughtily, glad for Katana’s height which allowed her too look down on the man.

‘Hermione, Locum Matriarch of House Grindelwald.’ She announced, presenting her hand, heavy with the Grindelwald seal. The headmaster’s eyes widened slightly, but he bowed over her hand and brushed the seal with his lips never-the-less. A murmur swept through the assembled audience.

‘To what do we owe the honour?’

‘Two of your students are missing, one of whom is Gellert Grindelwald, heir to the ancient house of Grindelwald. Yet, my family was only notified of this today.’ She declared coolly.

‘I assure you, we are doing our utmost to find them both.’

‘Your utmost... pathetic. I found his mount, abandoned by the portal within five minutes of my arrival. You claim to have searched for three days without having found as much.’ The headmaster’s eyes widened as she flicked her hand casually towards Kelpie.

‘The portal?’ He stuttered, ‘We didn’t think...’

‘No, you did not think.’ She interrupted coldly, ‘You did not think to check near the portal, you did not think to notify us when our family heir disappeared until three days had already passed, you did not think. You are lucky I do not have you removed for incompetence and endangerment.’

One of the witches behind him stepped forwards, placing a hand on the headmaster’s shoulder.

‘Perhaps, Ernest, we should take Miss Grindelwald through what we do know.’ She suggested gently. Then she turned to the students behind her, singling out a student about Gellert’s age. ‘Mister Malken, please show Miss Grindelwald to the stables so that she can settle her beast, then bring her up to the headmaster’s office. Everyone else, please return to your classes.’

Malken stepped forwards as everyone else stepped back, loud chatter swelling across the courtyard as students streamed back out to the grounds or through a small set of double doors. He was a well built boy, blond haired, blue eyed and with soft, smooth skin. Bundled up in his furs, he bore quite a resemblance to a dark, oversized snidget. He beckoned her through a large set of double doors and and she rode after him into the homey warmth of a massive stable. Corridor after corridor of beasts branched off from the main one but Malken took her to one with a familiar pond conjured in the middle of it. She settled Kelpie, taking extra time to rub him down with lukewarm water whilst Malken huffed and shifted impatiently outside. When she eventually swept out of the stables, Malken managed to stomp sulkily the whole way up the dark, compact castle to the headmaster’s office.

The witch and the headmaster were already waiting behind the desk, tea and cakes arranged on delicate little plates. Both of them stood and bowed her in, issuing strict instructions for her guide to return to his lessons. She took her time removing her gloves and cloak, laying them on the chair before finally taking a seat.

‘We found this note on your brother’s bed, and this one on Mr. Tunninger’s. His sister confirmed that this is Mr. Tunninger’s handwriting.’

Hermione glanced at the letter, scanning the unrecognisable writing as it listed complaint in a whining tone and declared that Gellert was going to run away. It didn’t sound like Gellert nor was it written even remotely in his hand. The letters curled far too much and the pen was too light; Gellert’s writing was firm and confident, the elaborate, angular gothic script nothing like the pale curving lines of this writing.

‘This is nothing like Gellert’s handwriting. Was this ever compared to an essay?’ She demanded. The two teachers shared an awkward look. Hermione assumed it hadn’t been.

‘We will take you to his dormitory, perhaps you can find more there.’ The witch said, standing. Hermione nodded, doing the same.

‘Very well. Headmaster, I will of course be writing to the board to discuss your performance. I suggest in the meantime you invest considerably more effort into the safety of your students; it would not reflect well on you if another coven son went missing under your watch.’ She swing her cloak back around her shoulders and strode out of the room after the witch. The heavy door to the headmaster’s office slammed behind her with a deep boom.

Hermione trailed the teacher through the gloomy, torchlit corridors of the castle. There was very little softness of luxury in this castle, in fact she wouldn’t even have described it as spectacular or impressive. They didn’t pass a single window as they travelled, just hundreds of flaming torches in brackets and thick, heavy doors of dark wood. There were no carpets, no tapestries, statues or suits of armour, just bare stone walls and floor, worn smooth by centuries of students.

They quickly reached a spiral staircase where Hermione finally saw her first window. It was small and slit shaped, recessed into the meter thick stone wall and with no windows. Freezing air blasted through the small space and chilling her instantly. Vaguely, Hermione recognised that it was still mid October and that the castle would still get much colder; perhaps the lack of windows made sense, but she saw no reason to not have tapestries and carpets.

The teacher that led her stopped at an otherwise unremarkable door and knocked firmly. There was a scuffling from inside, then the door swung open to reveal a skinny boy with mousy hair in the plain brown of the uniform undershirt. The boys were all standing smartly at the ends of their beds, chins up and feet together like little soldiers awaiting inspection. The witch that had led her to the room strode in, ignoring all the boys and the considerable smell wafting from a pair of boots that sat in a lonely pile in the middle of the room. Hermione strolled after her, doing her best to project casual confidence.

Gellert’s bed was made, but the covers were quite rumpled as though it had been done in a rush. His owl was perched next to the bed and it hooted in welcome to Hermione. She scratched it idly, surveying the rest of Gellert’s belongings. His clothes were all folded on the shelves and it didn’t look as though a single item of casual clothing was gone but a full set of the brown shirt and trousers of his casual uniform as well as his cloak was missing. So he must have been dressed when he went missing. Hermione’s eyes drifted to the boy still standing to attention at the bed next to Gellert’s. It was the boy that Gellert had brought to harvest with them.

‘Do you remember seeing Gellert on Sunday morning?’ Hermione asked quietly, but her voice carried through the silent room.

‘No, mi’lady. He was gone before we woke up.’ The boy replied sharply.

‘Was there a letter on his bed when you woke up?’ She asked, casually inspecting the quill on Gellert’s bedside table.

‘No.’ The boy replied, seeming puzzled. ‘But there was one there when I got back after dinner.’ He added brightly. Hermione sighed and thanked him. Then, hyper conscious of everyone watching her, she decided to sit down and try and feel for any more information with her magic. It took longer than usual to make the connection to the familiar pool within her because the boys kept shifting and distracting her, but eventually she managed. She prodded the family magic, hoping that it might be interested enough to wake up and guide her like it had every other time. It stayed stubbornly silent, so she drew up her own magic and sent it into Gellert’s bed and grasped at anything she could get ahold of. She opened her eyes, watching the bed covers begin to shimmer. Then a silvery mist seemed to rise up out of the fabric, convalescing into a golf ball sized orb.

‘A flask.’ She demanded, deciding the mist looked an awful lot like a memory. She’d have to take it home to view in the pensieve. The boy in the next door bed scrambled to fetch one for her, thrusting it into her hand with reverent awe in his gaze. She scooped up the mist and corked the vial quickly.

‘If anyone remembers any details, address your owl to Hermione.’ She instructed the boys in the room, then turned to the witch who’d showed her in who was now looking at her with surprise. ‘I have everything I can get, please show me to the stables and I will take my leave.’

She left a silent room behind her as she was led through the castle and down to the stables. She mounted Katana and rode out of the school, the memory clutched securely in her hand.


	39. Sickness

They remained on the ground, holding as still as they could as their pursuers searched for them, splitting into a long line and scanning the ground with bright witchlights. Wings and shouts echoed overhead, coming within meters of finding them. His breathing was a ragged with fear but he desperately held it when lights flashed behind clenched eyelids.

Finally, the voices faded, the searchers returning to their camp. Gellert opened his eyes, shifting off the uncomfortable stone in his back. His body ached, bruises and cuts he didn’t remember getting throbbed in uncomfortable concert with the searing staccato of his heartbeat which pulsed in the injuries on his hips.

Berg swore from his left and the massive bird stirred, letting out a soft, mournful mewl. Then Berg was standing over him, wand drawn.

‘Are you okay?’ The boy asked, eyes searching for any obvious injuries.

‘No, but I’ll survive.’ He took the offered hand, gritting his teeth as Berg helped him up and shuffled towards where the bird was watching them with one glistening eye.

‘He’s injured, lost some feathers on his left wing and a nasty cut to his right side. I think he’s prettyunfit too, that flight exhausted him. They got him with a conjunctivitis too, but I’ve already used the counter curse for that.’

The cut on the bird’s side was nasty, but there was really nothing they could do except hold their shirts against it and hope it would stop bleeding. The raw skin from beneath the manacles was just as nasty and the injury was full of gummy sand from how they’d been lying. Gellert cleaned it up and sacrificed more of his shirt to turn into bandages, then Berg came and tended to Gellert’s wounds. With them all patched up as best they could, the two boys took a seat either side of the huge beak.

‘What now?’ Berg finally asked. They were free, they had a mode of transport even if it was injured but they still had no food and no idea where they were. Gellert’s injuries were still bad and getting worse by the hour and the lack of food wasn’t helping his body fight off the infection.

‘We’re clearly on the edge of a desert of some sort and we’re several hours ahead of the time at Durmstang, so we must be somewhere to the south and east. I think we should head northwest until we find civilisation.’ He glanced around, wondering where north west was.

‘Even muggles?’ Berg asked nervously and Gellert shrugged.

‘Muggles eat.’

‘Yeah, plague ridden rats and rotten milk.’ Berg said nervously.

‘I don’t think so... I snuck down to the village near the castle once to meet them and we ate apples. Hermione doesn’t eat rats at home either.’

Berg still looked sceptical but agreed nevertheless.

‘Do you think you can fly, or do you want to sleep for an hour or so?’ The Tunninger heir asked the bird. The eyes snapped shut, decisively answering his question and the two boys laughed.

‘One of us should stay awake incase they come back.’ Berg decided. Gellert volunteered and they decided to move on when the moon had moved two hand’s breadths from its current spot... and, they realised, keeping track of the motion would give them an idea of which direction was east and west. He should also be able to find Polaris, the North Star if he could orientate himself.

Several hours later he was sore and stiff, but he knew what direction they would be going in. He woke Berg and the bird, neither of whom seemed particularly excited but they rose as a group anyway, the two boys climbing up onto the birds back, then the bird clambered to its feet. They had left a patch of dark, bloody ground where they’d camped out but there was nothing to be done.

The bird took off with a rapid beat of wings, surging up not the air and gaining height rapidly. The ground dwindled below them, rocks and shrubs becoming spots and pimples, then fading all together into a rippling plain beneath them. The night may have been balmy on the ground but at this height it was freezing, especially as wind whipped past them. Both boy’s clothes were tattered and almost all of Gellert’s had been torn into bandages, so the wind blasted his bare skin and he desperately tucked his fingers into the feathers of the bird’s back to keep them warm. Berg seemed marginally better and he peered over the sides of the bird’s neck to keep a lookout for civilisations.

Gellert must have drifted off because he awoke blearily when the first rays of sunlight pierced his eyelids. They were on the ground, the bird squawking happily as Berg chattered along. A moment later the other boy noticed he was awake and almost skipped over, a chunk of something black in his hand.

‘Meat!’ Berg exclaimed, shoving a charred chunk in Gellert’s direction. He sat up quickly, his stomach grumbling as he almost snatched it from the other boy. ‘Star caught it.’

He was too busy gorging himself on the offered food to care who Star was, or even what he was eating. It was chewy, mostly burned and the best thing he’d ever eaten. He cleaned it right to the bone in minutes, moaning in delight. Berg grinned at him cheerfully.

‘That,’ Gellert announced, ‘was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.’

‘It was a bird of some sort. Star caught it just as we were landing.’ As if it could hear them, the bird squarked and shuffled over, dropping to the dusty ground with a heavy thud next to Gellert. He found himself looking up at a distinctive patch of white feathers that looked like a star on the bird’s throat. He glanced around, wondering where they were.

It was still dusty with lots of prickly looking shrubs dotted around small ridges and rocky cliffs. Berg saw him looking and pointed in a seemingly arbitrary direction, telling him that they’d flown for a couple of hours, crossing a wide river and setting don just before they crossed a large mountain range, currently hidden behind the closest crag.

‘Are you sure that bird was edible?’ Gellert asked suddenly. His stomach which had previously felt wonderfully full suddenly felt like it was churning. Berg opened his mouth, then hesitated, clutching his own stomach with an odd expression, as though trying to figure out if he felt sick.

‘I think so?’ He finally answered. By this point, Gellert was feeling terrible, the meal squirming in his guts and threatening to come straight back up again. ‘I feel okay?’ Berg said finally. Gellert scrambled up, stumbling a couple of meters away and hurling up everything he had just eaten into one of the spiky shrubs.

Several seconds of trembling limbs and acidic burn followed before he felt he could safely navigate back to where he’d been sitting and tenderly lie back down again. Berg watched him worriedly, then crawled over and started cautiously unwrapping his injuries. The smell made Berg gag and Gellert was glad that the taste of bile meant he couldn’t smell. Star cooed sadly and extended a single clawed foot for Gellert to grasp in preparation for the inevitably painful cleaning process.

When he regained consciousness they were up in the air again, and he was slung face down over he bird’s shoulders. The sun was warm on the back of his neck, the feathers soft beneath his cheek. He could feel Berg behind him, shifting with the movement of the beast beneath them. The massive, sand coloured wings fluttered in the headwind, occasionally beating to keep their speed and altitude. He tried to sit, but his head spun and he felt queasy again, so he gave up, flopping back down again. Berg had noticed he was awake and he offered him some water which Gellert drank greedily, feeling parched.

‘What’s the time?’ Gellert muttered.

‘Late afternoon. You’ve been out for a while.’ Berg replied. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Like dung.’ He replied and Berg’s eyes flicked to the puncture wounds at his waist. He noticed suddenly that Berg was topless, skin burned an angry red by the sun and wind. His shirt was on Gellert, tight against his slightly wider shoulders.

Gellert allowed his head to roll sideways to that he could watch the land passing underneath him. They were flying over khaki coloured mountains that ran in long ridges, bright specks of green in the valleys and deep blue pearls of lakes.

‘There’s someone up ahead.’ He noted absently. There was a small spiral of smoke, a slight grey smudge that turned into a white plume higher up.

‘Where?’ Berg leaned sideways so that he could see too. ‘Fantastic.’

With confidence that Gellert found incredibly impressive, Berg clambered over him and shuffled up the bird’s neck seemingly regardless of the miles of air between him and the ground. He muttered something into the bird’s ear tufts and it angled it’s head sideways. The wings shifted and they wheeled slightly, beginning a gradual descent.

The bird wasn’t as fast as Hermione’s Longma, but they still came up on the small house quickly. The little plume of smoke grew from a wisp to a definite cloud, and eventually became recognisable as a large bonfire in a field. They swept over the field, massive wings sending dust and sand up in clouds. Sheep scattered, fleeing from their shadow as they came up on the house, landing heavily at the edge of a lovingly maintained garden that battled the encroaching desert. It was silent as the dust settled and Berg dismounted, sliding down the feathered back and jumping off sideways just before Star’s tail. Gellert watched with a feeling of fevered disconnect as the boy drew his wand, squared his shoulders and marched through the garden towards a curtained archway.

It was a pretty building, built of rough hewn stones that blended perfectly with the surrounding sand. There were several trees providing shade and he noticed a little scene set out below one - fluffy sheep with little stick legs being overseen by a straw shepherd. A straw woman with a scrap of fabric wrapped around her head oversaw little straw children.

He was distracted when Berg reappeared, a terrified looking woman following him. She wore a floor length, worn black dress with long sleeves and a black scarf wrapped hastily around her head. She hesitated, eyeing the beast warily as Berg talked Star into settling so that Gellert had less distance to climb.

It ended up as more of a fall than a climb and Berg helped him stand. His legs had become all weak and wobbly and the world spun as he stumbled forwards. He concentrated on his feet, placing them deliberately one after the other until they were in range of the woman. She quickly gathered him up, hands fluttering over his skin as she inspected him from every angle. He couldn’t find the energy to feel self conscious.

She babbled something, then started leading him into the house. It was cool which was an incredible relief after the burning sun of outside. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust, during which time the woman snapped something into the darkness. Someone else, distinguishable only as a shape with gleaming eyes clattered around, then he found himself being lowered onto a hard, cool surface. Berg stepped forwards and unwrapped the bandages around his waist, the putrid smell making both boys gag and the woman gasp. She snatched a bowl off the counter and passed it to a small figure in the corner of the room, snapping an instruction. The child hurried out of the room, then she pulled out another terracotta bowl and passed it to Berg, miming drinking, then pointing out of the door. Berg shrugged, then pointed his wand at the bowl, filling it with water.

The muggle woman shrieked, peering into the bowl suspiciously. She tasted some of the water, then shrugged and dipped a cloth in. Gellert fainted.

He woke up in the pale, steady light of a flickering fire. Berg was dozing on a stone bench and he realised he was laid out on a long, matching stone table. His side itched and throbbed uncomfortably and he still felt feverish, but he was more awake than before. He desperately wanted to see more of the room, and his hand obeyed when he lifted it, his magic jumping happily to create a glowing witchlight.

In the sudden flood of light he realised he was in a relatively small room, walls lined with shelves and hung with pots. There was a pile of sheep’s wool in the corner, and a woman stirred in the sudden light. She blinked a couple of times, then scrambled up, looking fearfully up at the light. Her eyes darted over to them as she hastily rearranged the scarf around her head. Berg stirred too, awoken by the noise of the woman rising hastily. He sat up, glanced up at the light and turned to the woman, making soothing noises.

Steeling herself, the woman stood and made her way over, continuously glancing up at the light. Gellert watched her as she came closer and allowed her to lift the damp cloth that was laid over his stomach.

‘She’s a muggle.’ Berg whispered to him. He nodded, having gathered as much. ‘Muggle healing is terrible, she’s been putting bugs in your injuries all evening.’

‘Bugs?’ Gellert croaked, feeling queasy in a completely different way to earlier.

‘Leeches and flies. Really nasty. She seems pretty confident though and you were in terrible shape already, so I let her do it.’

The woman dropped the cloth back down and headed over to the fire where there was a big pot set near the coals. She spooned out some liquid and passed the bowl to Berg, along with a spoon. She mimed eating, then shuffled off back to her bed. Berg sniffed the food cautiously, then, seeming pleasantly surprised, he helped Gellert eat. It was a spicy meal that set his lips burning and nose running but made him feel cleansed when he was finished.

‘That’s good.’ He muttered, flopping back onto the hard table. Full and in much less pain, he drifted off to sleep again, the witchlight fading with his consciousness.


	40. Beacon

She had owled the memories to Lady Grindelwald; it wasn’t much. Just a hazy memory of Berg waking up Gellert whilst all the boys were sleeping and the two leaving the room together. The important thing was they knew he had gone by choice, and that the two boys were probably together. Both Tunninger and Grindewald family magic told them that the boys were alive but other than that she had heard nothing.

Her parents had her write a letter which she addressed to Blau Berg and sent in the muggle post under their supervision. It felt rather ridiculous and was sure to confuse the German postal service, but it appeased her parents and more importantly, she had translated it for them so she could use their draft to get Lady Grindelwald to write a genuine reply.

However she hadn’t seen Lady Grindelwald in days. Anneken visited as often as she could, but mostly Hermione spent her mornings in lessons and the afternoons working on family matters. It was far more complex than she had ever imagined before. The German ministry of magic were constantly asking for the high witch’s opinion on matters from justice and law to spell work, there were hundreds of businesses and enterprises that the family had a finger in that needed to be attended to and piles of requests for wards, rituals and blessings.

Hermione had had no idea just how important the coven was to the political system of Germany. They approved every law before it was passed, and had a heavy hand in writing them. They were the protectors and leaders of the German public and the people petitioned them for changes, relied on them to ward their property and to settle disputes. The coven was like a ruling council and at their head stood Lady Grindelwald.

Incase that workload wasn’t enough, Hermione also had to organise a ritual she’d never taken part in. The altar had been used for Ostara, so it had to be ritually cleansed with salt water and sage. The paddock had to be grazed and two bonfires built using only fir and rowan and special candles that had essential oils in the wax. The elves were very familiar with the whole event and Klein offered to organise the baffling number of food obligation - a feast for the living, a feast for the dead, a feast for the family spirits in the cave which had to be taken down by one of the family and an offering left at the barrows. She had to choose several animals to be slaughtered; a heart rending experience because every one of them looked at her with doleful eyes and she could barely bring herself to decide which one only had two weeks left of life.

She returned from the paddock feeling miserable and cruel after almost an hour of having her decisions vetoed by Klein for being too skinny, too old, a good breeding animal... she’d eventually picked two pigs, two bulls and left the poultry to the head elf. There was an intimidating pile of paperwork piled on the desk, and on top perched a large, impatient looking owl.

Puzzled because the elves usually took letters from the owls rather than letting the birds into the study, Hermione untied the scroll from it’s foot.

She recognised the Durmstrang seal on the back and sliced it open quickly.

“To the Honourable Hermione Granger, Locum Matriarch of House Grindelwald.

It is with your previous cautions in mind that I write with great haste to tell you of the disappearance of another child of the Coven. Alice Tunninger left the school grounds in the early hours of the morning.

Her mount has been taken, and we discovered the landing prints going through the portal. Tests show that the last connection made was with the portal of House Tunninger. No permission for the opening of this connection was sought with the faculty.

Yours sincerely,

Headmaster Ernest Vindictus, Professor of Education in Rituals and Ancient Spellcasting.”

Hermione knew immediately that something was afoot. Herr and Frau Tunninger were both out hunting for Berg and Gellert with Lady Grindelwald and Berg’s grandparents had gone to visit friends so that they weren’t alone. There was no reason why Alice should be going to her empty home in the middle of term, in secret.

‘Klein!’ Hermione called. The elf appeared with a pop. ‘Deliver this to Lady Grindelwald please.’

The elf bowed, disappearing with the letter with a sharp crack. Less than a minute later the elf reappeared, shaking like a leaf but with a businesslike expression fixed stonily on it’s small face.

‘Lady Grindelwald is ordering you to be raising the castle wards immediately.’ The elf squeaked.

‘Okay, show me.’ Hermione instructed after taking a deep, calming breath. The elf led her into a part of the castle she had never been to before. It was much, much older - pearly stones replaced by rough hewn grey blocks. It was just below the foundations of the main tower, she decided. The ancient tunnel with its worn stairs wound between stone statues depicting cockatrice and dragons; the two animals on the Grindelwald crest.

The stairs ended at a short corridor with solid iron doors. The elf hauled the doors open for her and she emerged into a large, circular chamber that looked like it was carved into bedrock. The only thing inside a lump of geometric, metallic ore that glinted darkly in the light of the candle that Klein carried. As she got closer, she realised that there were hundreds of complex lines and symbols etched into the multifaceted surfaces.

She was directed to slot the family ring into a matching depression at the heart of a matrix of interlocking lines and circles. She partially expected some kind of door to slide open, or some dramatic magical effect to happen, but the room remained just as dark and still as before.

‘War threatens our family and fortress, protect us.’ She said clearly to the stone, reciting the words that that she’d been taught on the way down.

Blue light shot out of the ring, searing along the carved lines until the entire stone was webbed and glowing. The ring lit brightly for a second, then dimmed to normal again.

‘Well done Missy. Now we’s be locking the floo room.’ Klein said solemnly, leading her back up the staircase and to the floo room to where a similar groove was disguised among the carved decoration on a dragon’s chest armour, built into the overmantle. She slotted the family ring into it, turning it like a key and the floor of the stone hearth grated upwards, physically filling in the fireplace.

‘We is safe now, Missy.’ Klein said reassuringly and Hermione nodded tremulously. She was safe but neither Gellert or Lady Grindelwald were.

Suddenly there was a flash of silver and a large, ghostly owl appeared in front of her. It beat it’s wings twice, then then spoke in Lady Grindelwald’s voice.

‘Tunninger manor has fallen. The coven are investigating, light the beacon and prepare to provide refuge.’ The silver bird paused for several wingbeats, then in a softer voice... ‘You are doing very well, Hermione. I am proud of you, be strong.’

Once more, Hermione found herself taking several deep, fortifying breaths.

‘Klein, muster the elves and prepare the catacombs. Send Flighty to saddle Katana and ready my battle robes. I want to be mounted when they arrive.’

With her heart beating a dramatic soundtrack she hurried up the many flights of spiralling staircases. The tallest tower in the castle was the only tower without a turret, although from a distance it might appear as if it did have one because there was instead a massive pyramid of wood, stacked painstakingly by the elves months ago and covered by a blue oiled canvas. A pair of elves were already up there, dragging the canvas off the wood pile and storing it safely out of the way. She waited until they were done, catching her breath after the long climb.

The view from here was spectacular. She could look out over every hill, valley and field for miles. The muggle town at the base of the valley was a spatter of light and the larger town on the horizon was visible as a couple of golden lights. On the other side was the darkness of the hills where magical creatures reigned, faint glowing creatures flitted through the trees and lit clearings, otherwise it was still. One of the elves reported that the beacon was ready and Hermione took another deep breath before turning and raising her beloved vine wand.

A ribbon of fire wound its way out of the end, twining through the beacon and licking sinuously along the driest pieces of kindling. It caught within seconds and under a second’s more tender care became an inferno.

With the deed done, Hermione turned to look out over the magical hills again. It would be half an hour, perhaps sooner if the coven members had already notified their own families already. Then there would be hundreds of people swarming into the castle to seek the protection of their ancient wards.

‘Is there anything else I need to attend to?’ She asked Klein who had appeared behind her with a pop.

‘Missy will need to run the book at the gates.’ The elf told her smartly. ‘Katana is saddled for you Missy. I has your robes here Missy.’

The elf dressed her with a click of his long fingers, the now familiar weight of the black duelling robe settling around her legs.

She made her way down more slowly and found Katana waiting as promised, as well as an elf with a heavy book bundled in its arms. It was a young elf, one that she had seen in the kitchens but was not very familiar with. The small being was practically skipping with pride at being given such a job and Hermione could hardly bare to dismiss it.

‘Are you needed elsewhere?’ She asked it kindly as she gathered Katana’s reins and led him over to the mounting block.

‘Oh no Miss Hermione, Misty is not very good at being underground.’ The elf squeaked.

‘Excellent. I will need someone to assist me at the gates.’ She informed it, reaching out magically for the book as the elf fumbled it in her excitement. ‘Please fetch my self-inking quill from the dresser in my rooms. I’ll meet you at the gates in a moment.’

The coven children did arrive first, chaperoned by their non-coven parents and grandparents. Neele Fleiss arrived first with her father, who frowned heavily at Hermione as she directed him to one of the guest rooms in the castle and Neele to the children’s wing. The Fleiss family were not an old family and Neele’s mother; Arika Fleiss was a new blood like Hermione but had been powerful enough to be selected for the coven. She was a formidable witch, but Gellert had complained more than once that she just didn’t understand the traditions of the old families. It appeared her husband was the same.

Fortunately Anneken arrived with her betrothed just in time to avert disaster and the older witch took a solid stance behind her, the delicate Granian she rode in contrast to the scarred visage of Katana.

Herr Kollmann was next with his son Yannik. Hermione had never gotten along well with him but they were civil enough and Hermione was more than happy to delegate Yannik to the coven-child duty of guiding people down to their spot in the warrens as Neele took charge of storing people’s belongings.

Albert Friedl was the last of the children to arrive, now that all the others attended Durmstrang. His tightly coiled black hair sparked with excited accidental magic as he begged his mother to let him stay up late and settle people in the warrens, and she gave in with a resigned sigh before asking Hermione if there was anything she could do to help. It wasn’t traditional for the spouses of the coven to assist, but Hermione doubted it was traditional for there to be only four pre-school age children and one overage daughter present either.

‘Please.’ Hermione replied as a ministry official dressed in Khaki thundered up astride a Sleipnir.

‘What’s the meaning of this, where’s Lady Grindelwald.’ The man bellowed. Katana tossed his head in distress as he reined in his mount far too close to them for comfort.

‘Lady Grindelwald, along with the rest of the coven is attending an urgent matter.’ Hermione replied mildly, Anneken was silent but the young witch knew she was just waiting for this official to make a blunder big enough for her to tear into him.

‘Who lit the beacon? Why wasn’t the ministry informed?’ Demanded the official, peering into the castle as though looking for someone.

‘I did.’ Hermione replied cooly. ‘On the orders of Lady Grindelwald, as her Locum Matriarch.’

‘Her what? You stupid child, you can’t just up the country on a whim, these things must be deliberated by the committee for the protection of magical citizens. Extinguish that beacon now!’ The official went to spur his horse through the gates, but suddenly Anneken was there. Hermione didn’t know what happened exactly, one minute they were both mounted, the next Anneken stood on the ground with the official prone beneath her heeled boot.

‘Watch your tongue. Hermione is the Locum Matriarch of House Grindelwald, and House Grindelwald is responsible for the safety of the people. It is entirely up to her to light the beacon, with or without ministry approval.’ The older witch hissed. The official gurgled. ‘Now, apologise to her.’ Anneken let the official up and he stood, brushing down his robes angrily and turning for his beast. There was a loud crack and suddenly Anneken was standing between him and the beast.

‘Ah ah, apologise.’ Anneken reminded him. ‘Nicely, with a respectful bow. Very good...’

Anneken let him remount and the official thundered away down the road again towards the portal.

Hermione was more than relieved when the next people to arrive were the coven themselves. All twelve of them looked battleworn and resigned. Frau Kollmann was riding behind Herr Freidl, her goat shuffling behind them on a loose lead with sticky green acid glooping like bogies out of its nose.

‘Hermione.’ Herr Lintzen said, leaning down from his Sleipnir to give her a bear hug before moving on to do the same to his daughter.

‘What’s going on?’ She asked, already slipping the family ring off her finger and returning it to her Matriarch. She felt light enough to float out of the saddle as soon as the warm metal left her fingers, and her relief must have been obvious to all who watched because several of the coven members laughed. Lady Grindelwald slipped the ring back on her finger.

‘Someone has taken control of Tunninger Manor, but we are unable to tell who. The wards have been modified somehow and no longer recognise me as Patriarch.’ Herr Tunninger’s face was ghostly pale and Frau Tunninger’s reins jangled with her trembling hands.

‘Alice?’ Hermione asked, quietly.

‘We believe so.’ Frau Hassel replied and every eye turned down in sorrow.


	41. Muggles

To the surprise of both young wizards, Gellert began to recover. By the next morning he had considerably more appetite and the smell of his injury has rapidly fading. He put away two bowls of spicy soup whilst Berg was treated to a mound of rice covered in some kind of spicy bean sauce. He claimed it was excellent, if not what he would consider normal breakfast fare.

The family was quite large; there were two sons - one who looked about eighteen and wore a long set of white robes and a piece of fabric over his head, the other seemed about their age and wore a threadbare tunic and loose-fitting trousers. Both boys babbled urgently to their mother whenever they were in the house. There were two girls as well but the two boys of the household kept them firmly out of sight - he only saw a glimpse of the oldest once and she, like her mother wore a black dress and shawl around her head. He heard the youngest often, she liked to sing but was still working on her pitch and tone.

Berg offered to help out on the second morning, perhaps noticing that despite their generosity the family were not well off. He left with the two sons as the sun rose, and returned exhausted for a break during the heat of the day before heading back out again. By the fourth day, Gellert was allowed to sit and he helped chop food and mix dough.

Star had apparently taken to lounging beneath the largest tree and going for lengthily flights, occasionally bring home deep-like animals with delicate, spiralling black horns. The family had refused to take the first, but for some odd reason after that, so long as the eldest son spoke to the bird in the morning they seemed okay with it, and would more than happily take the meat to cook. They also performed some kind of muggle ritual five time each day, all facing in the same direction. Each time the boys would watch on with bemusement, wondering if perhaps this was some pre-statue remnant of magic or if there would be some dramatic magical effect if one of them joined in.

‘I think Allah is magic.’ Berg had decided one morning as he fussed with the head-cloth he’d taken to wearing outside. There seemed to be a strategy to wearing one, and a certain knack to the tying that he had yet to get the hang of.

‘No, I think Allah is a person.’ Gellert decided contemplatively. ‘Maybe their king?’

‘Funny king, to make people bow like that when he can’t even see them.’ Berg shrugged. Unless one of them learned the language, it was unlikely they’d find out more.

The husband arrived home on the fifth day, calling out for his wife in the local language. She ran out to greet him joyously, leaving Gellert to finish the scrubbing of the laundry. Laundry had been a new experience for him - Gellert had never even wondered how the clothes were cleaned but the elves - water was logical but he’d never thought it would take all this sloshing and scrubbing.

The sound of raised voices lifted his attention from the tub and he flicked his fingers towards the kettle, boiling the water instantly for the tea that would probably be made.

The owner of the voice bust into the room, tall and thin with a full grey beard and checkered head-cloth. He was loud and angry, then he suddenly stopped when he saw Gellert, still wringing out clothes. He said something more quietly and the woman said something in reply. The man bowed suddenly and Gellert paused, wondering what he should do in reply. Back home, he would never have bowed to anyone but out here he was a nobody child and these people had taken him into their home. After barely a moment of indecision he stood and bowed back in reply. His movement was stiff and formal compared to the other man, more meant for a ballroom than this desert dwelling but it earned him a friendly smile from his host.

The woman, as predicted, poured cups of tea for all of them, then a moment later a couple more just in time for Berg and the two boys to arrive through the door. The boys embraced their father and all of them settle on a rug on the floor.

Berg bowed unhesitatingly to their host, then introduced himself by pointing at his chest and saying his name. Wondering why he had yet to do the same, Gellert also introduced himself in the same manner. The father was Mohammed, the woman was Saba and the sons were Soheil and Hamid. The father called the two girls out as well, introducing the eldest (who wore an embroidered scarf, rather than the plain black of her mother) as Azadeh and the youngest, who couldn’t have been older than five, Zari. The family caught up over tea and chunks of bread as Gellert and Berg sat off to one side, then came the time for Gellert’s bandages to be changed. The father watched with awe as Gellert conjured crystal clear water into a bowl and lit a bright witchlight; the two young wizards may have accepted that Saba had used bugs to heal him, but they were determined that none would be left in now that it was beginning to heal.

She made positive noises as she unwrapped it and showed it to the two boys. The smell had gone and the stitches she had used had pulled the edges closed to form a knotted but healthy looking scar. She rubbed more honey on it, then wrapped the bandages that Berg had washed and dried back around it. Then, in a manner that prompted no arguing, pointed outside.

She had been getting him to walk around the garden several times after each meal, and this time he was joined by everyone else. There was a donkey harnessed to the cart, tethered to a ring on the shaded side of the building and everyone hurried over to it and began unloading. There were piles of hessian sacks, tied into bundles which Gellert helped to shift to a large shed built against the house. They were large but easily levitated and Mohammed clapped in delight as they floated their way onto shelves. Berg dealt with the sacks of flour and jars that were destined for the kitchen. There were nails and a new, heavy pot that could have passed as a cauldron, a length of cloth and two skeins of brightly coloured thread. Then, almost reverently, the man pulled out a green stone, set in gold. The whole family seemed overjoyed and Gellert wondered at such a simple piece of jewellery bringing such pleasure. Hermione loved her family comb and treated it like a newborn baby. Anneken and Petrovna had always been casual about their jewellery, perhaps it was a witch thing.

It had weighed on him often how much effort the family were expending on him, and he owed the woman his life. His hand wandered the the gold chain that hung around his neck. It had once held his heir ring but now that he was eleven he wore it on his right hand and the chain was now empty and of little relative value to his family. He touched the man on the shoulder lightly and the family fell silent, opening up to look at him. He unclasped the chain from around his neck, letting the fine gold coil into Mohammed’s hand.

Saba, the mother gasped and her eldest daughter looked like she was about to cry as Gellert pushed Mohammed’s hand in her direction. Mohammed shook his head, moving to give it back to him but Gellert tilted his hand so that the light glinted off the carved sapphire and tapped it once with his finger.

‘You saved my life.’ He said slowly and clearly, but the words meant nothing to the desert dwellers. He looked to Berg in frustration.

‘Show them a memory.’ The other boy suggested, waving his hand in a large circle and creating a misty sphere which convalesced into the image of Gellert collapsing as Berg tended to the nasty injury. He tapped it once and the image changed again to show Saba tending to the injury. Gellert nodded and bowed to Saba again, deep and smooth now that he wasn’t caught off guard.

Any further conversation was halted by the arrival of Star who deposited another one of those deer-like animals and sending the donkey shying sideways. Mohammed had stumbled backwards and fortunately landed against the cart before he fell, and he remained there, paralysed with fear as Star lowered a mighty eye and blinked a couple of times at him.

‘We should make sure Star knows not to eat their donkey.’ Berg said as the eldest son stepped forwards to inspect the kill. As usual, he inspected it closely, then when it satisfied him he picked it up and took it to the tree where Star was staying. Soheil usually took the best cuts of meat and left the rest for Star to pick at in his own time, the bird seemed happy with the arrangement and the family appreciated the free meat.

‘Star isn’t stupid, he hasn’t eaten any of their sheep.’ Gellert defended the bird, reaching over to scratch his chin and drawing his attention away from the terrified farmer. He named the bird, pointing at it deliberately and was echoed faintly.

‘They’re not as bad as we were told, are they?’ Gellert commented as they wandered back towards the house.

‘No, its rather impressive really, what they can do without magic.’

‘I don’t understand why the statute keeps us away from them. We could do so much to help them.’ He looked at his wand as he twirled it in his fingers.

‘Because they hunted and burned us.’ The other boy replied quickly, the conditioned response.

‘Only because we kept cursing them, these muggles haven’t done anything but help us. It takes a flick of my wand and they’ve got clean water and there’s spells to make food cook itself, wood cut, and fields sow. We could give them so much.’

‘And the next Dark Wizard that comes along kills them in the thousands and we’re back to square one; being burned and hunted.’ Berg looked somewhat bad tempered at Gellert’s persistence.

‘We can just obliviate the ones that know about that then; we already do that to erase our own presence, so it would violate their minds even less.’

The other boy sighed in resignation.

‘I wont convince you otherwise, will I?’

‘No.’ Gellert said resolutely. ‘As soon as I come of age, I’ll start changing things. Beginning with that village at the bottom of the hill at home. The statute doesn’t have any foothold in lots of countries; Romania still allows witchcraft and they’re virtually nonexistent in South Africa and Australia.’

‘That’s because the natives there use their own traditional magic and their people accept it, its not like our magic with wands and light.’ Berg said tiredly as they stepped inside, blinking quickly to adjust to the darkened interior. Gellert boiled the kettle with a wave of his hand and Saba picked it up with a smile, pouring them both tea as Gellert pulled the bread dough from where it had been rising on a board

‘Hermione doesn’t use wands and light.’ Gellert pointed out, smiling slightly.

‘Hermione’s odd like that, scary, like I said.’ Berg helped Saba lift a long metal paddle out of the fire and Gellert dropped the flat loaves onto it. They landed with a sizzle and immediately began to puff up as Berg manoeuvred the paddle back into the fire.

‘She just visualises magic in a different way to us. She treats it like its something living inside her and she tells it what she wants, and just expects her magic to provide. She’s always doing stuff that should be impossible.’ Gellert almost glowed with pride as he spoke. He’d spent ages working with her and admired the strength that came with her method. He often tried to emulate it, but the ingrained habits of society made him doubt whether it was possible, and as soon as doubt crept in he’d lose the conviction necessary to make the magic work. Hermione’s muggle upbringing meant she had no such reservations.

‘Strange, so her magic works out the method on it’s own?’ Berg sounded mystified.

‘Yes, she gets odd side effects a lot of the time though. For some reason lots of her magic ends up blue.’

They discussed the technicalities of magic as they helped to prepare dinner, then Gellert was shooed out to perform more laps of the garden and Berg joined him. The sunsets here were always spectacular, streaks of orange and purple like paint across the sky and gold etching the clouds as they streaked into velvet night sky. The first stars twinkled, those that were familiar to him, and closer to the horizon in the south there were those that he didn’t recognise.

‘Do you really plan to reveal witchcraft to the muggles in Germany?’ Berg asked after several minutes of walking in silence.

‘Yes. When I come of age.’

‘What about the ICW? They’ll try to stop you.’ Berg replied, clasping his hands behind his back to match Gellert’s pose as the last of the sun dipped beneath the horizon.

‘I am a Grindelwald. They cannot stop me.’


	42. Undead

Hermione was looking forwards to Samhain more than any other ritual she’d ever taken part in. She had a spectacular black dress with lace skirts and petticoats and spiders embroidered in glittering black thread across the stiff bodice. She had a skull shaped iron mask, polished until it gleamed silver - she was the only one allowed to wear a skull, as she was the moon for this ritual, everyone else had to wear animals.

Samhain was the most dangerous of the rituals because it involved the opening of the veil between the living and the dead. It was also the most ritualistic. It took all morning for the two drummers and Lady Grindelwald to paint all the symbols on her skin in the blood of one of the slaughtered bulls. Unlike last time, there was no levity between the twins as the focused solely on getting each stroke of the brush millimetre perfect. They helped her dress as the sun set, then left to dress in their own black dresses.

The elves meanwhile had been busy leaving offerings at the caves and barrows and completing the two huge bonfires. She could smell the feast cooking already and there were flocks of wizards on broomsticks, brushing up on their skills in preparation.

She made her way down to the ritual area alone, arriving early to try and forge a connection with the family magic inside her. Lady Grindelwald had suggested that she invite the magic to take part early on and that it might hurt less if she wasn’t fighting.

The alter was plain compared to the previous rituals she’d taken part in and definitely toed the line of dark magic - there was a large silver bowl of deep, crimson blood from the same bull who had provided her own protective symbols. A second bowl waited next to it, this one empty. Arranged around the altar were seven candles; one at each corner and one situated in the middle of three sides, allowing a gap for Hermione to climb up the steps.

She took a seat in the middle of the altar, crossing her legs beneath the pool of inky lace that she wore. Her mask rested on her lap, empty eye sockets staring creepily up at her. She shivered and shut her eyes, reaching down into the waiting embrace of her magic. The swirling wind of her family magic rustled the air around her sent a leaf fluttering across the stone slab. She leaned forwards and picked it up, tossing it up into the air again where the magic caught it again, sending it spinning and twirling away into the twilight.

‘Ready, Hermione?’ One of the twins asked from behind her. She nodded, standing smoothly. The two witches already held the bowls, horns hanging at their hips and gleaming deer antlers rising from their masks.

She lifted the silver athame and nodded, the witches’ lips curved into smiles. She followed them down to archway where a crowd of people waited to be let in. A hush fell, the ritual was beginning.

Lady Grindelwald was the first, she curtseyed deeply then straightened. Her wolf mask was terrifying. She drew a wicked silver athame from her belt and held her right hand out over the empty silver bowl.

‘For the dead.’ The witch intoned, slicing her hand sharply. Bright blood welled up and dripped into the bowl. After a charged moment, she turned to Hermione. Hermione reached to the bowl the other twin held and dipped her finger into the blood it already held.

‘For the living.’ Hermione smeared the blood across the cut and watched as it sealed neatly, leaving the smear of cattle blood the only blemish on Lady Grindelwald’s porcelain skin. Lady Grindelwald moved away towards the altar as Frau Tunninger stepped up and took her place with another curtesy. Her mask was owl shaped, and her athame looked ancient and well loved as she too spilled some of her blood into the first bowl, and was healed by blood from the second.

Herr Tunninger followed, bowing and using an ornate athame. His fox mask incredible in its detail. He took to the skies on his broomstick as soon as he was done, forming the beginning of what would soon be a whole host of flying wizards.

Over the next hour she saw an iron rendition of every animal imaginable, of a vast array of quality and age. She saw athames that were clearly heirlooms, athames that were obscenely ornate and athames that were barely more than a silver shard and took great persuasion to actually cut flesh. Behind them two concentric rings were roaming around the altar as witches took their positions and linked hands. Up in the air, wizards flew in great flocks like starlings, swooping and turning with robes snapping and masks glinting. The last person entered, and Hermione performed the process for herself and the twins.

Hush fell as she made her way up the hill to the altar. The wizards stilled on their broomsticks and the witches closed up any last gaps in their circles.

Hermione mounted the last steps, flanked by the two twins who now only carried the second bowl - the one that brimmed with the blood of everyone present. They placed it down near her feet, then retreated and left her alone. Hermione spread her arms wide.

‘The veils are thin, the time draws near.’ She called. The family magic howled to life in response, whipping up a wind that blustered through the assembled witches and set the protective runes drawn across her body aglow.

‘We are ready.’ Lady Grindelwald called from the central position of the two circles of witches.

When Hermione spoke again, it was the ancient and otherworldly voice of her family magic that echoed across the gathering.

‘Let us begin.’ Magic flared out from her outstretched arms and the candles ignited with a whoosh, flames searing up as tall as she was before subsiding to a normal height. Behind her, the two hunting horns pierced the air, notes loud and clear.

She dipped her hand into silver bowl and drew a long, straight line across the altar in glistening blood.

‘We give this gift, from the living to the dead.’ The ancient voice spoke through her. Light spilled from the drawings on her hand, and like a spark along gunpowder, lit the line she’d just drawn. The gathered witches echoes her in a murmur. She dipped her hand into the bowl again and drew another line, this one at an angle towards the back corner.

‘We remember you, though long you have been gone.’ Again, the line sparked and the gathered witches repeated her. She dipped her hand again, drawing another line, this one crossed the first and went straight towards the front of the altar.

‘We invite you tonight, whilst the veil is thin.’ This one crossed the first again, angled towards the other back corner of the altar.

‘To feast and celebrate,’ she drew the last line, crossing the second and third, to join with the start of the first. ‘Another year gone.’ The witches echoed her.

The horns pierced the air again, echoing long past when they should have stopped, swelling and twisting until she realised the sound was actually voices; the restless whispering of hundreds of ethereal voices.

The whispering grew, beyond the sound of the horns until she could make out words, names being called.

‘The time is now!’ Lady Grindelwald called, her voice carrying over the whispers.

Every witch raised her marked hand and it began to glow, brighter and brighter. The magic within Hermione exploded, roaring out in a blast of fiery wind that spun and vortexed in the centre of the pentacle. Like a tornado, the wild magic whipped the magic from the hands of the assembled witches, stretching the glowing orbs into swirling strands that spun faster and fast, growing taller. Wind buffeted Hermione, lifting her hair and whipping at around her face. She could hear the voices now, like they were screaming at her.

Then it fell silent, the magic still tore and twisted, but the voices were gone, the sound muted. Then, a single woman’s voice spoke.

‘We have returned.’ She said, her tone indecipherable.

Volume returned with a roar and a sound like a thunderclap.

‘I tear the veil asunder. Let the dead rise.’ She screamed. With a terrible rip, the twisting funnel of magic split down the middle, sides stretching open to form a massive, glowing archway. Ghosts streamed through, glowing like bright pearls as they scattered among the assembled witches. The wizards above descended like a cloud across the moon, darkening the sky until the gateway became the brightest point. She could see something else now, a bloody crimson creature that lumbered towards the gap in the veil from the other side. It roared and bellowed as the silvery ghosts slipped out into the world. Light flashed from the wizard’s wands above, purple jets landing on lava-like hide. The creature roared, staggering back from the gateway as the last of the benevolent spirits slipped through.

Hermione didn’t need the collective cry of ‘close it’ to know what she needed to do. The magic within her roared once more and the gateway flexed like a muscle. Slowly, ever so slowly, the two pillars began to inch closed. More jets of purple light shot through, sending the creature reeling sideways as it thrashed it’s lupine head and snapped with razor jaws. Two massive, hooked claws curled around the gateway, trying to force it back open and Hermione poured more into it. Another volley of purple spells blasted the first claw away from the doorway and a second scored a direct impact on the beast’s maw.

‘Finish it, Hermione!’ She thought she heard Herr Lintzen shout from the cloud of wizards that swooped past her head. She threw everything she had into it, the pillars flexed once, twice, then shut with a snap, the enraged roar of the beast echoing in their ears.

There was a pause, then cheering. The men settled to the ground, hugging the crowd that seemed to have swelled massively. She looked around, realising that the spirits had solidified into real forms that wore strange, old fashioned clothing and bare faces, unlike the masks of their living compatriots. She could see a knight in a suit of armour standing next to the angelic bird mask of Neele and a severe wizard duelling robes bowed to Lady Grindelwald.

A hand dropped onto her shoulder and Hermione spun to see two ethereally beautiful women in long, ancient looking dresses. One wore green, with a silver kirtle and an emerald diadem that matched her piercing eyes. The woman’s hair was a cascade of chaotic black curls, the shadow to platinum of the other woman’s hair. The colours may have been different, but that riotous volume was identical to Hermione’s own hair.

‘Child of Gorlois.’ The second woman smiled down at her, running a long, elegant finger down the skull shaped mask and sweeping a lock of wind blown brown hair out of her face.

‘Is that who I am? The family I’m from?’ She asked uncertainly. The two witches smiled serenely.

‘The first in centuries.’

‘Almost fifteen hundred years.’ The dark haired one replied, ‘but you are well worth the wait. Legends rise with our name, and they shall rise again in you.’

‘I am a Gorlois?’ Hermione asked again, hoping to hear the exact confirmation from the two witches.

‘You are a child of Gorlois, we have never carried a family name.’ The second witch replied.

‘What names do you carry?’ Hermione asked.

‘I am Morgause, the mother of your line.’ The blonde witch replied. Hermione knew the name, she knew the legends, which suggested the other woman with the dark hair... Hermione turned to her.

‘Morgana?’ She asked uncertainly. The emerald clad witch smiled indulgently. Thunderstruck, Hermione almost fell backwards but caught herself just in time, taking a deep, steadying breath.

‘I had no child, but my sister had many, only one of whom had magic.’ Morgana told her.

‘Mordred, he gave birth to two sons, one of whom was slain and the other survived to give birth toour line.’ Morgause finished quietly. Then she looked up quickly and Hermione spun, following her line of sight to see Lady Grindelwald stood behind her. The tall witch stood alone, the spirits that she had been talking to huddled a little way back. The tall matriarch curtsied deeply, bowing her head to the two dead witches.

‘I am Katerina Grindelwald, had I known that Hermione had a family to speak for her, I would have sought permission from you before taking her as a ward.’ She spoke in softly accented English, to match the language that Hermione had been speaking in. It was strange to hear the older woman speaking without her usual flowing confidence and she stumbled over several words. Hermione imagined that particular line had been rehearsed in preparation for today.

‘You have our blessing, it is unlikely that Hermione would ever have learned the old ways without your sponsorship.’ Morgause dipped her head towards Lady Grindelwald.

‘We only ask that you accompany her to our barrows where she may be recognised as a daughter of Gorlois. The family magic will awaken the ghost of our father, who will perform the ritual.’ Lady Grindelwald curtsied deeply, then returned to her own ancestors and headed towards where the feast was starting. The dead and living alike took seats around the tables and the elves brought out the food. Neele jostled in opposite Hermione, a kindly looking old man at her side and she introduced him as her Great Grandfather on her mother’s side, who hadn’t been properly magical but had been burned at the stake for his uncanny healing ability. It was a rather horrible tale, but the Grandfather in question seemed jovial enough about it. He eagerly asked questions of everyone around him, fascinated by everything from the elves to the plates.

‘Are there many people in our family?’ Hermione asked Morgana, who was managing to nibble delicately on a piece of meat that was speared on a knife.

‘We were one of the oldest and most developed lineages, there were others families in positions like ours but very few. Most magical people lived out their lives as druids or priests, only performing accidental magic in times of high emotion. Our knowledge was closely guarded.’The witch replied, eyeing Hermione as she picked up a piece of potato on a fork. The witch shrugged and ignored her own fork, stabbing a carrot with her knife instead.

‘The Blacks, I believe, were a couple of generations old by then. They owned that apothecary outside London.’ Morgause added, ‘the Gryffindors had the wyverns near the ritual circle at Salisbury. There was a rumour of another family in Gaul- maroon heraldry, wasn’t it Gana?’

‘Lestrange.’ Morgana spat.

‘Ah yes, you never liked them...’ She trailed off. ‘Most countries have a particularly ancient lineage tangled with their royal family - the Grindelwalds here were a powerful, long standing line, but they never garnered much knowledge. The Egyptians really had it done well, they managed to convince the muggles that they were gods! The Greeks tended to be the most knowledgable.’

‘There were the Slytherins! That family that Merlin was taken with.’ Morgana added.

‘Yes,’ Morgause added sourly, ‘They were a little rustic for my tastes.

‘You really should go to the barrows in Orkney; our family grimmoires are there.’

‘Is it a family thing that makes my magic blue?’ Hermione asked suddenly.

‘Blue, no, mine was always green.’

‘Always?’ Hermione asked curiously. The two witches glanced at her.

‘Most things were green, ritual light and fire. You favoured blue though, Morgause.’

‘It’s just, most people don’t have the colour problems I do.’ Hermione pointed out. She raised her hand, allowing flames to flicker to life in their typical shade of icy blue.

‘It’s not a problem, that’s perfectly normal. It’s just the colour your magic manifests as in the physical world. Of course, some rituals or spells will actively change it, but that tends to be a waste of focus, unless you particularly need to have a different colour?’

The main course disappeared suddenly, fading away on the plates and dessert was carried in. Hazelnuts, ground into a rich cream and apples in every form - baked, caramelised, honeyed, spiced, in cakes, on cakes...

The two witches seemed uninterested in any further conversation, preferring instead to tuck into generous dessert portions. Knowing that they would be flying next, and that her stomach was definitely not as fond of broomsticks as it was of Katana, she declined all but the smallest helping.

The next part of the night was supposed to be true witching, something that Hermione had never experienced. Gellert had explained it as reminding muggles of their existence with a wild sort of glee that perhaps only came naturally to someone who didn’t quite see muggles as people. As dessert cleared up the living gathered their broomsticks. Hermione had her own - a nice, steady Oak Expedition. It wasn’t as capable as most, but it was certainly better than a broom that soared past overhead making a keening whine.

As the living rose on broomsticks, the dead took to the air as well, taking on the silver, spiritual forms they’d had when they came through the veil. There was an energy and excitement in the air that had even the silver bearded elderly swooping through the sky like someone half their age.

‘Piger Messem Perdidit.’ Someone shouted. Other people took up the cry, drawing their wands which began to glow an ominous green. They swirled around each other, chanting and whooping, cackling. Iron masks glinted demonically, highlighting savage beaks and curling horns. Black cloaks snapped and ghosts spun between them, greenish yellow mist trailing behind them. Hermione followed the general flow, flanked by her two ancestors. Morgause had drawn her sword, and the blade glowed with sickly green light.

‘It means “a lazy man loses his harvest.” Morgana clarified for her as the began to break up, stringing out into groups and swooping away across the fields, chanting and crying. They would dip low, skimming the ground and spreading green magic in trails from wands, swords, staves and feather dusters?

Hermione ended up peeling off towards the south with Herr Lintzen and his group. They swooped low across the fields and Hermione reached out with one hand, ghosting it through stalks of ripe corn. Green mist spilled from her fingers with an electric zing without any prompting. It felt wonderful, she realised, to cast for the sake of casting. It was sort of cathartic, like popping bubble wrap.

The wind whipped in her face, cool and fresh with the coming winter. Her magic sung, wild and untamed with the chanting. She could feel other people’s magic swirling around her, the vivacity of the young, the experience of the old and the ancient power of the ancestors. She laughed, taking another pass as they flew over wild field of blackberries. She sat up on her broom, fingers splayed and green magic hurled outwards, cutting a glittering green swathe through the night. Morgana and Morgause swooped down next to her, Morgana’s hands glittering as she threw balls of light that exploded like paint over the fields. Herr Lintzen swept alongside her a feather duster wielding nanna descended on her other side.

‘Leave some for the rest of us!’ The coven wizard bellowed good humouredly.

‘Let the child have some fun, you big lout.’ The nanna screeched over Hermione’s head.

‘A powerful gift you’ve got there, child. My Grandson isn’t bad either, got a pretty face too.’ She brandished her duster at an orchard.

‘Nan!’ A young voice cried in dismay from just behind her. It was the boy on the whining broom. She didn’t know how powerful he was, but “nan” was certainly biased when it came to looks - he certainly could do with putting on some muscle, whoever he was. The pair soared away and Hermione and her ancestors took free reign over a field. She could see flashes of green all around her, as far as the eye could see. Witches and wizards spoiled the crops of those too lazy to harvest them.

The revelry didn’t stop until it was well into the early hours of the morning. Hermione was exhausted, cold but felt wonderful. She turned her broom for Blau Berg, accompanied by a rag tag of living and dead.

The two bonfires had been lit, roaring pillars of sweetly scented flame that towered far above their heads. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Morgana and Morgause solidified next to her.

‘It’s time for us to go.’ Morgana said, glancing towards the east where the sky was beginning to imperceptibly lighten.

‘It was wonderful to spend the night with you. I can’t wait for next year.’ Hermione replied earnestly. The two witches smiled, and Morgause tucked a lock of wild brown hair behind Hermione’s ear.

‘You are a true child of Gorlois. I am proud to have you bear the title.’ Morgana brushed her fingers over Hermione’s mask again. ‘Remember, do not falter, dare to do, you were born to be a legend.’

‘Go to the barrows in Orkney. There are many treasures there, and many who would share knowledge with you.’

The two witches hugged her, then with barely a glance back they walked between the two fires. Their forms became silvery and indistinct, then vanished all together. Hermione was left in the field with only the living for company.


	43. Curse

He was almost fully recovered from his injury and consequent sickness now and like Berg, he was now helping with the work on the farm. It was hard and gruelling under the heat of the sun and his body quickly recovered its strength. In the evenings, the two boys would practice their fencing in the front yard to redevelop Gellert’s agility and speed. They invariably had an audience - the eldest of the two daughters seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Berg, and was teaching him their language.

There seemed little point in remaining now - Gellert’s bandages had come off for the last time at lunch and Star’s injuries were healed and the bird had grown strong enough to fly for hours after his time in captivity.

The family had been particularly generous after Gellert’s gift of the gold chain and he strongly suspected Mohammed was trying to talk his daughter in his direction, rather than Berg’s.

They announced their decision to leave via the medium of some very inventive charades and were provided by a veritable feast as their last evening meal. Spiced sauces of three different varieties and fluffy white rice, moist loaves of flat bread baked with herbs and rich, creamy yoghurt.

The next morning he awoke to find the family already up. They were packing for the boys; blankets and a change of clothes, warm sheepskin and head cloths to keep the sun off (Berg had finally gotten the hang of tying it). There were already other bags near the door, one he recognised as rice and the other was beans. There was a jar that he knew contained the ointment for his injury and a leather envelope that had been gifted to him last night, which contained generous portions of the spices they used for cooking.

He was already wondering how to tell them that they wouldn’t be able to carry it.

He boiled the kettle to make tea and sat down to eat some of the left overs of last night’s dinner. The family greeted him with their usual mutter of welcoming notices and he nodded in reply. The family started carrying the packages outside, presumably to the bird and he stood, taking his cup and bread to follow.

He froze in the doorway, amazed by what he was seeing.

Star had been given a harness - A thick, russet blanket that covered his back and was strapped on around his neck by tasselled fabric straps, padded with black sheep skin and hung with . A second band ran behind Star’s wings, and stretched between the two straps was another piece of fabric, and it was into this that they were loading the bags of rice and clothes. As he got closer, he realised the entire thing was covered in exquisite embroidery. The strap across the chest was almost as wide as his legs were long and depicted two mighty armies with horses and chariots, swords, bows and streaming pennants. There were steps sewn into it, he realised with a start, so that they could climb up without pulling on Star’s feathers.

Star was preening, he decided. His feathers had developed a glossy sheen in the past couple of weeks and the bald patches had begun to fill in. His eyes were no longer rheumy and held a fierce intelligence.

Gellert turned to Mohammed and bowed deeply. The farmer bowed in reply, looking happy as Gellert bowed to each of the other family members in turn. Berg did the same and the tow boys climbed up to settle on Star’s back. The family backed away as the bird stretched his wings, beat once, twice, and launched.

He was much, much faster now. The ground dropped away from beneath them despite the load carried. Star circled the household once, letting out an echoing screech before shifting his wings and taking them further up and away.

‘We’re going home!’ Gellert yelled, stretching his hands out to either side of him and letting the wind buffet his face, whipping his head-cloth around his shoulders and making his loose tunic billow wildly. Berg might have shouted something from his spot behind him but the wind whipped away his voice.

Gellert hadn’t really been well enough to pay much attention to their flight last time but this time he could really look around. The bird flew with strong, steady beats of it’s massive wings, often gliding for several seconds. They weren’t moving particularly fast - Hermione’s Longma could move much faster, but he suspected they could keep this up for hours, long past when the smaller dragon-horse would have been run into the ground.

They were higher too and the air was thin and cold. The sun was stronger as well, warm against his skin which had darkened considerably in the past weeks to a shade that only Hermione would consider acceptable. Berg looked completely different - his parents had put him through duelling and fencing lessons but he had never been particularly fond of them and had always retreated to a library whenever possible. In the past week, his skin had exploded in freckles and his hair had lightened to a reddish-auburn. His arms were muscular and the slightly rounded fat on his face had melted away, leaving him looking serious like years had passed instead of days. He didn’t know what his own face looked like, but when he ran his fingers across his cheeks they met unfamiliar ridges and planes.

For several hours they just watched the scenery rolling beneath them. It was boring, but far too windy for them to talk.

Eventually, Berg noticed a large, glittering expanse of water on their left. They were flying parallel to it and probably had been for some time because it stretched across the horizon from far behind them, almost indiscernible from the sky. Almost as soon as they noticed it, they reached the end and swept back out over endless jagged ripples of hills again.

There was more water among these ones, vibrant sapphire rivers snaked between the hills. Deep green spread outwards from each one like veins that traced the smaller tributary streams.

They set down between two joining rivers as it began to get dark. Star staggered slightly on landing, exhausted from a long day of flying with a load. The fabric that held their supplied was tricky to unfasten - the knotted leather loops that held it had worked tight over the day and they had to heave upwards to take the weight off. Then both boys dropped to the ground as Star settled heavily, blinked once, then tucked his head firmly beneath his wing.

The boys quickly took stock of the supplies they’d been given - rice and beans, spices and clothes. Gellert cooked whilst Berg folded up the blanket to use as a mattress, then as the last light began to fade, Gellert glanced at Star.

‘Star hasn’t eaten.’ He pointed out. Berg glanced up, then looked around.

‘He’s not going to eat anything after I’ve been at it with a fire curse.’

Gellert looked at him in disbelief. ‘You must know something else.’

‘Tripping jinxes? That’s not going to help us.’ Berg snorted. ‘You finished off Lucan last year, what did you use for that?’

Instantly the pleasant evening became too warm, the ground too cold and the insects too loud. His dinner felt heavy in his stomach and bile rose in his throat.

‘I didn’t...’ He trailed off. He remembered exactly how it had felt in the cave; the dank, metallic smell of the air, the pain of his legs and the power that terror had given his magic. He lunged up and stumbled away. Berg called for him, but Gellert barged onwards through scrubby, scratchy undergrowth.

The other boy didn’t follow, and the undergrowth quickly thinned leaving him scrabbling over the smooth stones of the river. Faced with the difficult terrain, his thoughts quickly cooled. He wasn’t in the cave and as Hermione had said, he hadn’t intended for such a horrible death. In fact, he hadn’t even intended death at all; he just wanted Lucan to not hurt him again.

He dropped onto a particularly large, flat rock. It was definitely night now; the last of the purple sunset had faded to velvety blue-black and the moon was growing brighter quickly, gilding the rocks with silver and sparkling off the gurgling stream. He reached down and picked up a rock, weighing it in his hands a couple of times, then chucking it.

It landed in the shallows with a wet clop and a little weaselly creature scurried away up the far bank. A moment later it paused and turned back to look at him with reflective eyes as if it was judging him for throwing stones.

‘Shoo.’ Gellert hissed at it aggressively, annoyed that it had interrupted his brooding. Throwing the stone had been cathartic until the stupid animal had made him feel guilty about it.

The animal seemed unphased, and slowly began picking its way back to the water’s edge. Gellert watched it, wondering what it was. It seemed mundane enough, but he’d never seen one in Germany before. He chucked another rock at it, and although it looked up, it didn’t even deign to spook this time. He scowled, wondering if he managed to hit it, would the animal die?

Probably.

His third rock fell a long way short and didn’t even earn him a glance.

He weighed up a fourth rock in his hand, wondering if he could somehow guide it in the same way Hermione had accidentally guided her arrows during their first Harvest shoot.

Perhaps, but it was a long way and the moonlight was playing havoc with his depth perception.

He dropped the rock, not even bothering to throw it this time. It clattered and rattled into the gap between two larger rocks.

He could try to use magic, he supposed. It wasn’t exactly dark to kill an animal, people did it all the time for food and Star did need it. He had killed Lucan without actively knowing the spell, in that case he’d just strongly wished the other wizard was gone, and he’d been gone. Perhaps, he could make himself want to kill this animal strongly enough to manage a similar feat?

He drew his wand, directing the tip towards the animal.

It was easy.

He summoned his magic, pushing it down the wand with the singular aim of death. The wand tip lit, a green pinprick that grew brighter and brighter as he refined his command - death, painless, edible. He released it and the clearing lit up - every crevice in the rocks, every leaf on the overhanging trees. There was a sound like something large whooshing out the end of his wand and then it vanished.

He blinked against the sudden darkness, struggling to make his eyes readjust.

The animal lay exactly where it had stood moments before; there were no injuries, no signs of death except for the stillness. He had killed it.


	44. Barrows

The next couple of days passed uneventfully; a nasty band of cold weather came through and she caught a nasty cold which left her bedbound in both timelines. Sammy brought schoolwork and bouquets of leaves each day (because there were no flowers left to pick along the way to her house.) It was odd, but certainly charming and he wedged himself firmly back into her parent’s good books.

On the day she recovered enough to stop accidentally jinxing books off the shelves with ever sneeze, Lady Grindelwald decided to fulfil her promise to Hermione’s ancestors.

They flew to the portal under heavy disillusionment charms and used them to travel to, oddly enough, Durmstrang. From there, it was a long flight south-west over the North Sea to the archipelago at the top end of Scotland.

They had no idea what to expect and as such had brought a second Granian, laden with saddlebags behind them. Bowls, athames and bolines, a pigeon, a simple white cloth dress each, satchels of herbs and candles, chalk and ink, incense, rope, a cauldron, Lady Grindelwald’s staff and a basic set of stone chisels for carving runes.

A strong wind built as they got closer, slowing their progress and forcing both witches to cast warming charms. With it came a thick, ominous fog that obscured the sun and made it default to see one another without getting caught in the turbulence of each other’s wings. They dropped lower, skimming across the white flecked waves as they rolled towards the distant, dark mass of cliffs. They shot up, soaring over icy bracken and heather. Grey rocks covered in lichen peered out, looming unexpectedly as they swept out and over another cliff. Steely water flashed beneath them, then another wild island. They banked left, swooping down a long, wide inlet with their wings whipping up little vortexes of freezing spray that pattered against the impervious charms cast over their cloaks and sheeted from Katana’s scales. The inlet ended in a dark, rocky beach which blended into messy scrag of boulders and heather. Sheep bleated in alarm as they knifed between them and big, hairy cattle blinked in dopey surprise.

Lady Grindelwald set down suddenly, her Granian’s hooves squelching wetly in the vivid, short green grass. Hermione landed behind her, looking around with interest at what must be her families’ historical lands.

‘There’s something ahead.’ Lady Grindelwald announced. She walked her mount forward, hooves squelching. Hermione could feel ancient magic, lying dormant around them like a heavy blanket. A dark shape appeared out of the mist, growing more solid as they approached until it could be made out as a massive standing stone. The matriarch stopped before it and Hermione pulled up next to her.

‘The magic is dormant, perhaps if you were to reach out to it, it might awaken.’ Lady Grindelwald suggested. Hermione nodded and reached out. The magic sparked instantly at her touch, life flaring through it and racing like fire out across esoteric connections that snaked like cords across the country. Across the distance, she could feel ancient spells and enchantments flaring back into life but all of it centred a short distance away in a pulsating core of power.

Beyond the stones, something was glowing. It grew steadily brighter and both witches realised quickly that it was approaching. They readied their wands as the mounts stirred uneasily.

A figure appeared from the fog; too substantial to be a ghost as his passing stirred the fog and his leather boots sucked and squelched as he walked. He wore a long, formless blue cloak that pegged at his right shoulder with an ornate pin and a red-brown tunic that fell to his knees below it. A leather sword belt hung at his waist and a wicked looking staff with a sharp, flint spearhead at the tip hung across his back. His hair was as bushy as Hermione’s, and his gruff face was painted with deep blue swirls. It was these swirls that glowed with strange, otherworldly light and they seemed to shift across his skin, coiling into patterns and animals before unravelling to form something else entirely.

‘It brings me great joy to see magic return to my line.’ The man said, drawing to a halt just abreast of the stone. ‘What is your name, child?’

‘Hermione.’ Hermione replied, more than a little awed. She could feel the magic that created this man - an incredibly complex enchantment that held his ghost inside this artificial construct and gave him solid form, bound and powered at the same time by the markings on his skin.

‘And your companion?’ The man now turned to Lady Grindelwald looking significantly less benevolent.

‘This is Lady Grindelwald, who has taken me as her ward.’ Hermione introduced as the matriarch inclined her head politely.

‘We convey our thanks to your family, Lady Grindelwald.’ The spectral being bowed at the waist.

‘Hermione will be an asset to both our names.’ The matriarch said an her accented English after a moment deciphering the strange accent that the being spoke with.

‘I am Gorlois, who established our holdings. Come.’ The wizard turned and Hermione nudged Katana into following him. A jangle of harness and creak of leather accompanied a similar movement by the German witch, the pack horse following after her.

The moment they cleared the stone, a wind rustled through her hair and clothes and the fog cleared in the interior of what was revealed to be a massive ring of standing stones. It was far, far bigger than any ring she’d seen so far and an unmistakable altar took stage in the centre; two tall stones rearing up behind it like a gateway. The spirit walked straight through the gateway, and across the circle. A corridor opened up in the mist on the other side; little mounds of stones marking the way. It was drier along this path, and they quickly left the ring of stones behind.

They hadn’t ridden far when Gorlois stopped suddenly at was appeared to be a very large barrow. It was far too big to be a single grave, like the barrows that ringed the sites in Germany, and a small, dark cutout burrowed into it. Hermione dismounted, hanging onto Katana’s stirrup for balance on the slick ground. Precariously, she made her way over to the doorway and followed the glowing of Gorlois’ markings inside.

‘May I cast a light?’ Hermione asked after hitting her stooped head for the fourth time. Gorlois made an amused noise, but said nothing negative, so she let a light glow to life in her hand.

The cramped corridor went a long way before finally opening up into a larger room. Lady Grindelwald rose from hands and knees with an irritated huff and looked around in interest. There were three alcoves, two of which held ancient skeletons which bore long swords. Hermione wandered over to look at the ornate and obviously enchanted blade, then screeched and tumbled backwards when the skeleton bent forwards to inspect her too. Gorlois laughed with a deep, booming voice and the two skeletons clacked their jaws in a terrifying imitation.

‘The dead speak often and my daughters told us of your coming. All who reside here are eager to meet the newest of our line.’

‘All who reside here.’ Hermione repeated faintly. Lady Grindelwald was taking deep, steadying breaths behind her, with an elegant hand clasped over her chest.

‘Is it not customary for the ancestors to remain to guide and assist the living?’ Gorlois seemed genuinely confused.

‘No. We bury our dead now.’ The young witch said firmly.

‘Such a waste. One can accrue such knowledge and power in a lifetime, to let is all just... fade when one passes beyond the veil seems so pointless.’ The being sighed sadly.

‘Is every ancestor interred here?’ Lady Grindelwald asked, sounding more than a little fearful.

‘There are many, in different forms. Some, like these two, are physical guardians and others remain in spirit or art.’ Gorlois answered. The skeletons chattered in agreement.

‘Fascinating. The process is voluntary, I assume?’

Whatever horror and surprise Lady Grindelwald may have expressed upon first experiencing the undead guardians of the chamber were now firmly buried beneath academic curiosity. Hermione was certain nothing like this existed in Germany, or perhaps anywhere.

‘We choose what we will become and the relevant spells are cast, ready to be activated by our death. The sacrifice of our passing powers the enchantments.’

‘Voluntary human sacrifice, powerful indeed.’ Lady Grindelwald mused in German. ‘No wonder your family magic is so powerful for a line that has been absent for so long. Almost the entire magical power remains on this plane, as opposed to the mere impression left by our more... I suppose modern methods might be the more accurate term in this situation...’

She trailed off as the two skeletons stepped forwards, boned feet clacking sickeningly against the stone floor. They both twisted the pommels off their swords and slotted them into matching depressions either side of the third alcove, straight opposite the entrance. With a heavy grating noise a slab of stone lowered into the ground, revealing a pitch black staircase descending into the depths. The two skeletons retrieved their pommels and reattached them to their swords, then returned to their alcoves after bowing briefly to Hermione.

‘Come.’ Instructed Gorlois. The two witches shared a look, then followed him down the stairs.

It wasn’t anywhere near as nasty as she had expected. The air was fresh and smelled of clean earth and peat. Somehow, despite being a subterranean passage in Scotland, the steps were dry and still solid.

They descended a reasonable way, perhaps the equivalent of two stories underground before they they passed though a stone doorway and into a long, vaulted cavern. It was perhaps fifty meters long and supported by massive arches of stone with doorways leading off into side rooms every ten meters or so. Between the doors stood more skeletons, all of whom started chattering excitedly when they appeared and waved various weapons in a manner that had Hermione wonder just how many family members had been killed by over-excited guardians. As if awakened by the commotion, glowing ghosts winked into existence around them and Hermione found herself ducking and weaving to avoid a series of morbid inspections and once, what seemed suspiciously like a horrendous embrace. Finally, she managed to get a glimpse inside the first side room.

Her breath caught at the sight within - it was a library, filled with massive books and scrolls, all looking as fresh as the day they were written. Carved into the stone walls were depictions of more ancestors, painted with bright depictions of clothing that were incredibly realistic considering the time period they must have been made in. One of the figures was familiar to her - dark hair and a green dress, Morgana winked one stone eye at her, then returned to reading the stone book she held in her hands. Gorlois seemed to have restored some calm into the main chamber by the time she arrived, and silent ranks of undead in various forms let her wander into the next room. This was full of enchanted swords and spears, preserved by magic. The variety was astounding and yet none of them held and resemblance to the delicate weapon that she had learned to wield. The bows were more familiar, and arrows filled barrels beneath them. The end wall contained tens of athames and knives - obsidian, iron, gold and bone. Some were decorated, others were plain and every one was razor sharp. With heavy, clacking steps, something approached and Hermione spun, half expecting another horrific undead family member. Instead, she was greeted by a stone figure. It was crudely carved, but the distinctive blue swirls that covered everyone here were painted boldly on rough hewn features.

‘This is Galanan, our caretaker. He maintains this holding in the physical plane.’ Gorlois introduced and Hermione curtsied. With a painful grating noise, Galanan bowed in return then with an eager, impossibly fast motion, he grabbed the wand out of her hand. She squealed in protest and tried to take it back but the statue held it up our of her reach.

‘He just wants to see it. Wands were weak and unstable in our time, they are very different now. He will not damage it.’ Gorlois reassured her and Hermione huffed irritably but allowed the statue to inspect it. He did hold it surprising delicately, and she could feel his vague magical presence probing it. Soon, seeming satisfied, he passed it back to her, then started poking her too. She yelped and tried to escape, but found herself pinned against the stone wall.

‘Hermione? Come here, this is fascinating.’ Lady Grindelwald called from another room. She escaped the probing fingers of the caretaker and scampered up the central corridor to where Lady Grindelwald stood at the pulsating magical core of the magic. The Grindelwald family centre was in the caves behind the waterfall, a fair distance from the castle. It was where Hermione had been taken almost half a year ago to join the family. They had a second heart though in the ward stone of the castle which seemed alive like this one.

Here however, both aspects seemed to be combined into one. A long, low slab that could have come straight from Stone Henge filled most of the room, almost as tall as the low ceiling and carved with more of those swirls, each depression filled with more deep blue paint.

‘I’ve never seen runes mixed like this before. There’s ancient Gothic runes here, and an almost flawless transition to these Pictish and even here, ancient Norse.’ Hermione edged around the narrow corridor between stone and wall to where Lady Grindelwald was inspecting the stone, under strict supervision from a jaw-clacking skeletal guardian. ‘See here, this is a different hand to these runes here. I think this is connected to the ritual stone circle, perhaps the stones are sentient... no, there’s a wraith living in each stone. This here is the mechanism that opens the stairwell down here I believe. Ive just never seen it all written in one place! Oh, and look at this, this is a ward for a different location entirely! It looks like a ritual circle and they’ve used lay lines as directions.’ Hermione couldn’t read the runes and although she gathered from the matriarch’s tone that the methodology was unusual, she saw no real problem with it. Instead, she wandered further around the stone until she emerged back out into the corridor.

‘Come, it is time to take your place.’ Gorlois announced, striding across the corridor to the room opposite. This one was very different - a crystalline waterfall trickled and dripped from the ceiling, pooling over slippery, worn rocks before running away through a grille in the wall. Built around the water was a short wall, keeping the dampness away from a large platform.

‘What do I have to do?’ She asked nervously; nothing she’d seen so far indicated that this ritual would be anything like she’d ever taken part in before.

‘Wash.’ He instructed. Hermione looked between him and the water dubiously. It looked very cold. She shrugged off her cloak, then looked at him expectantly. He stared impassively back at her.

‘Wash. In the waterfall.’ Gorlois instructed again.

‘I know that. You’re not watching me though.’ Exclaimed the young witch, horrified.

‘Who will bathe you?’

‘I will!’ She snapped. Gorlois seemed confused by her reticence to strip in front of him, which did not bode well for the future of this ritual. Perhaps, she considered, it was normal in his day for family members to go naked in front of one another - they often lived in single room buildings after all, but Gorlois hardly felt like family yet and she’d be reluctant to strip in front of her actual father, let alone some thousand year old grandfather.

‘I will fetch your patron. She may assist you.’ Gorlois finally compromised and Hermione sighed in relief. Lady Grindelwald arrived a moment later seeming more than a little amused and the older witch conjured a light curtain across the doorway to keep everyone else out.

It was an odd experience; there was more to the instruction to “bathe” than she had first assumed. Rather than the brisk, businesslike process of showering at home, this was more of a cleansing, both inside and out. The Lady Grindelwald sung as she worked, carefully rubbing soap into her hair and then working out every knot and tangle before rinsing it clean. Then she used a cloth to wipe Hermione’s feet, and to painstakingly wash every inch of her body. The song shifted as the witch worked, gentle waves of magic caressing her in concert with the unfamiliar words.

There was a pile of unbleached linen cloth and, still singing, Lady Grindelwald dressed her in the plain, light robe.

A deep calm had descended over her, as though she was drifting on a cloud on a warm summer’s day. Goosebumps pricked across her skin as Lady Grindelwald brushed her hair straight and fell silent.

As if they had been waiting for that moment, two ghostly women appeared through the curtain and a moment later a bowl of thick blue paint was slid beneath it. Both were similar in appearance, with the exception of their hair. It was difficult to tell as both women were a monochromatic silver-grey, but one had hair that was a similar light shade to her dress and was only slightly darker than her skin. The other had dark hair and a dark dress, a matching, heavy looking circlet on her brow.

There two ghosts began to sing as well; a similar tune to the song Lady Grindelwald had just been singing, but in a different language. It was soft and crooning like the gentle ebb and flood of the tide but with a grandeur that stopped it being anything like a lullaby. Under their silent directions, Lady Grindelwald picked up the bowl of pungent paint and a paintbrush. She too began to sing again in her own language, her powerful voice blending and swelling with the two ghosts. Echoes of fingers traced lines over her skin, the coolness of the brush following behind them; three thick lines down over her left eye and a bold line beneath her right. Then the witches shifted their tune, this time there was a tempo created by sharp, staccato words as the outline of something that could be a hammer, or a double sided axe was painted on her right shoulder. Two zig zag lines ran down her arm to her elbow like lightening bolts, then across the back of her hand an x shape with a circle between her ring and middle fingers was drawn. The song changed again as they began on her left arm, the notes swelling into loud, clashing emphasis crescendo with the dark haired ghost chanting a deep, menacing undertone. A line of jagged peaks circled her left bicep, then a wavy line cut though each peak.

The song quieted again as they painted her legs with lines and moons, paying particular attention to her feet and the top of her thighs. As the last curling, three pronged shape was finished the song drew to a close on a final, ringing note.

Lady Grindelwald smiled at Hermione, then stood in one smooth motion. Her fingers were stained blue and her hair had dried into a tangled knot and she looked incredibly odd in the plain, shapeless linen robe she wore. The matriarch inclined her head, then left the room.

Outside, a strange noise began. It was a rhythmic clacking, loud and echoing - clack, clack, thud! Clack, clack, thud!

The two ghosts rose smoothly, untouchable hands brushing Hermione’s elbows to let her know to follow.

Clack clack thud! Clack clack thud!

With each thud she took a step forwards, crossing the room slowly. With one painted hand she pushed the curtain aside and stepped through on the next thud.

The long, low room was packed with figures - the clacking and thudding was the skeletons, sitting on the stone floor. They slapped the ground with their left hand; clack, clack, then slammed the pommel of their weapon into the ground with their other; thud.

A single voice, deep and masculine called out and the rows of ghostlike figures echoed back the same words, their voices rising in pitch. A single, crystalline female voice cried out the first words of another song and the chant was taken up to the beat of the hands and hilts on the floor. She continued stepping forwards, one foot in front of the other until she reached the stairs. It was obvious where she was meant to go, so she started up them. The skeletons and ghosts crowded up behind her, stamping their feet and smacking their weapons against the wall as the ghosts continued to sing their grandiose song.

The sun was setting, shining straight through the entrance corridor and illuminating the barrow with warm, golden light. She kept walking forwards, stepping in time with the beat of feet and hands. Leading the host of undead, she made her way out into the open and followed the cairns to the ritual circle. The two mounts shied away nervously but she didn’t notice, her gaze fixed on the ritual stone where the small figure of Gorlois awaited them.

As they passed each cairn, a ghoulish wraith rose from it, adding unearthly shrieks to the chanting.

Magic rippled over her as she passed into the massive circle. Then, as the dead that followed her passed through, they shimmered, flesh and skin covering bones and spectral forms becoming solid.

Crack crack thud!

They halted suddenly at the altar, the host fanning out to encircle them.

In the sudden silence a gull cried, wheeling overhead and deep throated frogs croaked.

‘A new age is upon us. A child has been born with the gift of our line, strong and healthy. I present to you, Hermione.’ He spread his arms wide to gesture to her. The onlookers banged their swords together, stamped their feet and cheered as she was gently pushed up to the altar. They were a dazzling array of witches and wizards of all ages and periods - all of whom bore the inhuman swirls of blue paint on their skin.

‘For centuries we have slumbered. Kingdoms have fallen, empires crumbled, our names all but forgotten. But not we have been awakened, once more shall our magic touch this earth, once more shall we take our place on the stage of legends.’ He spread his arms wide, bellowing over the clashing of swords and staffs. ‘Let us remind the world of the power that together, we wield.’

As one the crowd surged forwards, closing on the altar. Hands reached out, touching the stone slab. Those that couldn’t reach touched those behind them until they were surrounded by a sea of wild hair and pale, painted hands.

She received no warning when magic suddenly roared through her, individual and singular at the same time, stamped with the identity and individual magic of everyone present, yet all carrying that wild, bright wind.

‘From each to the whole we give ourselves, with many as one, do as you will.’ The voices roared through the air and through the magic.

‘Forge the connection, Hermione. Become one of us.’ Gorlois whispered in her ear. The wind that was roaring around them send his hair whipping into her face, mingling with her own as their clothes snapped in the gale the joined family magic created. Tentatively, she reached out with her own magic.

The moment she touched it, it exploded in wind and fire. The ancient power of her ancestors joined cataclysmically with hers and the wind howled. The sky darkened as their primal magical energy spun clouds into storms, reaching across the country and announcing to all who could read the signs that the line of Gorlois had returned. She could feel distant, alien beings as they reached out, cautiously testing to see who this new power was.

Waves crashed into the rocky shore, rain and spray lashed their faces and the stones channeled the wind into an ear-splitting scream. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, lighting the faces that were now upturned into the rain. Blue paint ran in rivulets, streaming down to pool in the low of the stone. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled.

‘To the High Priestess!’ Gorlois bellowed over the noise.

‘The High Priestess!’ The assembled bellowed.

Lightning flashed, thunder boomed and the earth shook. Hermione was blasted off the altar like a rag doll, landing heavily on the soggy ground. The wind silenced, the clouds cleared to reveal winking stars. A hand reached down to her.

She grasped it and was hauled to her feet. The ring of stones was chaos - skeletons were trying to reassemble themselves, hunting down missing bones and body parts but clacking their jaws in a way that seemed more happy than concerned. Ghosts drifted, stunned as other, more cognisant ghosts wafted wraiths back towards their relevant stones and cairns.

‘What happened?’ She asked, ears still ringing. Gorlois grinned, his hair standing up wildly in all directions, and led her towards the alter.

There, in the dip where the paint had pooled and at the centre of a starburst of carbon, lay a ring. Gorlois picked it up gingerly between his large fingers and passed it to her. She took it, inspecting the knotted, dark metal and woad blue stone. There was a carving depressed into it, some kind of wolf-dog creature. It was nothing like the ornate seals of the Coven families, but it was hers. She closed her fingers over it, determined to find a chain as soon as possible.

Then Lady Grindelwald was there with a smile and an unexpected hug. She drew away quickly, but Hermione was left shell shocked by the public display of affection. Then, to Hermione’s utter surprise, Lady Grindelwald, High Witch, curtsied to her.

‘Congratulations, High Priestess.’


	45. Theft

‘Did you feel that?’ Berg asked suddenly, pausing as he stirred the spicy stew he was making with the meaty thighs of Gellert’s latest kill.

‘Yes.’ Gellert replied, for that powerful magical storm was unmissable, despite how distant it had felt.

‘You don’t think that was Dumortier, do you?’ Berg nervously tapped his conjured ladle again the edge of the conjured cauldron.

‘Maybe. I’ve never heard of any magic that does that.’

‘Neither...’ and if Berg hadn’t heard of it, it probably didn’t exist. ‘I mean, it didn’t do anything, it was just there.’

‘Loudly.’ Gellert added. Berg didn’t see the humour and nodded sagely, then returned to the stew, stirring it once more before ladling it out into bowls.

It was delicious - although Berg was the better cook of the two, Gellert couldn’t wait to show off his new cooking skills to Hermione when he got home. After much experimentation, the boys had learned that the muscle over the back legs of most animals was a reliably tasty meal and Gellert could now skin and fillet the meat in a matter of minutes. He was certain Hermione would be impressed by his knowledge of the spices and how they mixed together and he couldn’t wait to get her back for the baking incident with the flour and water. He couldn’t wait for her to rub her eyes after chopping the little red chillies.

His train of thought was interrupted as Berg handed him a bowl of piping hot soup and he wrapped his fingers around it gratefully. It was cold at nights now and although they wore every item of clothing that they had been given, they kept having to reapply warming charms. When they were flying, even those weren’t enough and they’d taken to taking it in turns to clamber over the harness and curl up inside the cargo blanket on Star’s belly.

‘We need to stop somewhere - get more clothes.’ Gellert began. They’d had this exact conversation every night for days, but this time there was a new urgency to it - they had spotted, in the distance as they came in to land, the first blindingly white patches of snow were nestled in the low spots around their campsite.

‘I know, you want to get them from the cabin you saw.’ Berg sighed heavily. Neither boy particularly wanted to have to steal the clothes, especially from someone who probably couldn’t afford to replace them as they came into winter.

‘It looked large enough, and whoever owned it had plenty of livestock.’

‘You’ve already said this. I agree, its just...’ Berg hesitated, then he gulped down the rest of his stew and stood quickly. ‘Alright, lets do this.’

Gellert copied him, dropping the bowl. Star blinked at them, then tucked his head back under his wing when he saw they were planning to go somewhere on foot and he wasn’t needed.

Berg may have developed spectacular agility in the air, scrambling around Star’s harness without hesitation whilst thousands of feet in the air, but the ability hadn’t carried onto land. He kept tripping over branches and smacking into trees. Gellert didn’t understand it because to him it didn’t seem anywhere near dark enough to be physically walking into things. Compared to Berg, he virtually ghosted through the trees like a creature of the night himself.

The hut was half an hour away. Firelight flickered in one of the windows, shining through the gaps between shutters, but the other window remained dark. Between them and the building was an expanse of frosted grass and dark vegetable patches. A cow lowed from a medium sized barn and fluffy goats huddled miserably beneath a tree on the other side of the building.

‘You sneak in, get the clothes. I’ll keep watch. If we’re spotted, I’ll make a racket so you know to run.’ Berg decided and Gellert nodded.

Crossing the moonlit grass was considerably quieter than trekking through the woods. The goat’s heads shot up and gleaming green eyes watched them cross the space until they disappeared into the cover of the cabin. Berg paused beneath the sill of the bright window whilst Gellert kept moving, the slight crunch of his footsteps on the grass disguised by the chattering woman’s voice inside.

He reached the dark window and reached up, feeling up the rough wooden surface until he reached a cool metal bolt. He pushed his magic outwards, performing a silent, wandless unlocking charm and a moment later the windows opened on silent hinges.

He slithered over the frame and found himself in a generous bedroom; unusually generous when he considered the size of the hut. He wouldn’t have guessed it to have anywhere near this exterior dimension.

He crossed the floorboards carefully, testing each plank before putting his full weight on it. There was a small pile of books on the bedside table and a large wardrobe taking up one wall. He headed for that, opening one of the tall doors and easily finding everything he could want or need. There was an apothecary’s satchel hung on the back of the door and he quickly stuffed it full of fur hats and gloves, woollen socks and scarves. The robes were all far too big to be safe whilst they were flying, but he grabbed a pair of thick wool and fur cloaks. He shrugged on cloak over his shoulders and tucked the other through the strap of the bag before retreating back to the window. He had one leg slung over the frame when shouting and yelling erupted from the room over. Light flooded the grass as the shutters were thrown open, lighting the feeling figure of Berg as he scrambled away.

Gellert dropped to the ground beneath the sill just as the door to the bedroom opened with a crash. Heavy footsteps pounded across the floor, stopping above his head. He held his breath, desperately hoping the man wouldn’t look down...

He bellowed something, a large, meaty hand reaching for Gellert who rolled quickly away and scrambled to his feet, dashing headlong across the stretch of open land to the relative safety of the trees. A furious roar sent the goats scattering as the man followed, leaping out of the window and gaining on him with mighty strides.

A hand closed on the trailing edge of the cloak, dragging Gellert to a choking stop. He managed to keep his balance, then lost it as the man crashed into him. They both fell and Gellert kicked and bit as they went down, tangling both their legs in the too-long cloak and taking a heavy elbow to the eye.

He lost quickly, the much larger man pinning him to the frozen dirt and holding him there with a painful knee to the small of his back. For a moment both of them just wheezed in an attempt to catch their breath.

A bright flash of crimson spell fire lit the night and the weight on his back disappeared. Gellert didn’t pause. He pushed himself back to his feet, swept up the bag and second cloak and plunged into the woods. Neither boy stopped running until they reached where Star was roosting.

The bird was standing, wings spread before they even reached him. Gellert threw himself at the first start in the harness, hauling himself up with practiced ease then turning to retrieve the roughly bundled cargo blanket with their remaining rice and beans. The moment he had ahold of it, Berg jumped for the strap in the same manner as Gellert had moments before and a second later, Star’s powerful legs launched them into the air.

They flew for less than an hour before setting down again - far enough to make muggle pursuit almost impossible.

Berg dropped to the ground as soon as they landed, closely followed by Gellert.

‘What happened?’ Gellert demanded, distributing their stolen clothing and repacking the rest of it into the bag.

‘Bloody goats. They came around the corner and started butting their heads at me. One of them had a nasty set of horns and got me in the... delicates.’ Berg muttered. His hand nursed his delicates tenderly as he spoke and Gellert grimaced in empathy. It was bad enough that he’d been caught by a horn in the first place and their hasty retreat had probably only exacerbated the issue.

‘How about I take the first watch? We should probably keep an eye out incase they managed to follow us.’ Gellert suggested, settling himself deeply into the fur of his cloak. Berg shuffled over to the cargo blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders before rolling over and falling quiet.

In the first moment of silence, his mind wandered again to his family back home. He didn’t know exactly how long had passed since they’d left Durmstrang, but he was certain Samhain had long passed. If he had to place a guess, he would put the date at some time in November. That meant that Yule decorations would begin soon. He wondered who had been given his position as the Sun; Berg would have been his first guess, but Berg was with him. Perhaps it would go to Dominick Wach, or one of the Hawdon twins?

He wondered if Hermione and the coven were still searching for them? Had they given up? His mother was still alive, he was certain. He would feel it, he thought, if he became family heir. Experimentally, he called for Klein, but there was no answering crack of elfin appearance, which meant he was not yet the elf’s master and as such his mother still held the position of Matriarch. Hermione, there was no way to check... except... except for that magic earlier.

It hadn’t been Hermione, of that he was certain. He knew her magic as well as he knew his own; she was all blazing white fire and scorching heat. That magic had been grey and stormy, powerful, ancient and alien. It was not Hermione but he had felt such magic once before - on the night that Hermione’s family magic took over the harvest ritual.

It was not Hermione, but it was Hermione’s family magic.

It should have reassured him but it really didn’t; that sheer amount of magic just couldn’t be safely controlled by a single witch or wizard. Even if she’d somehow saved herself from whatever prompted such a massive display, she would have certainly burned herself out in the process.

He desperately wanted to get home but at the same time he dreaded learning what had happened in his absence.


	46. Siege

‘Control it!’ The spirit urged as Hermione delved into her magic once more. ‘No, no, you’re letting the magic lead the way again. You can’t let the magic control the spell in sorcery; that’s witchcraft.’

Hermione huffed in frustration, opening her eyes and abandoning her most recent attempt to repair the damaged stones. She would have assumed, with a title like “high priestess” that her primary duties would be more public and impressive, that she’d be leaping into tricky and advanced magic. She’d been asked on the evening of the ritual, over a camp-style dinner under the stars outside, what she wanted to achieve first. It had been Lady Grindelwald that suggested rebuilding the ancient portal. After all, Lady Grindelwald reasoned, once there was a portal in place, she could visit more often to learn more,

Of course, there was a reason the intricacies of building portals had been lost. It was a closely guarded secret by those who knew at the time as the ability to teleport across massive distances was of huge value in those warlike times. The exact runes were well understood but it was the magic process of linking it to the all important other plane that was lost.

So that is what she was trying to achieve - trying. The family magic was no longer on the other side of that barrier within her magic, now it blended with hers and joined in on the casting of every spell. The family magic was like a living thing, intelligent and intuitive and it was incredibly easy to perform magic that was classified as “witchcraft”. When she’d first tried to conjure a bed in hr lessons with Grindelwald it had been beyond her focus but other spells, such as conjuring the needle had been easy. She could simply picture a needle and her magic would create it for her. Now, even a conjuration such as a bed was achievable with minimal focus. The family magic would happily oblige and fine tune details she’d never thought to focus on.

Sorcery was another matter entirely. The whole point of this type of magic, she learned, was when spells became too complex for witchcraft and magic could no longer fill in the details, nor could her mind hold onto the details to force her magic into compliance. In this case, it was critical that her magic did not deviate from her instructions and followed the exact paths laid out for it in runes on the stone. The family magic and her own to a lesser extent, really wanted to do its own thing. Apparently, she had been giving it too much freedom and had been lazy in her everyday spell casting.

‘Try again, Hermione.’ Lady Grindelwald urged absently. She glanced at the older witch and raised a single brow in a move she’d been practicing in the mirror for months. The usually immaculate matriarch was sitting on a lichen covered rock, dark hair knotted into a messy bun and held with her wand. Tendrils escaped, hanging in locks around her face which was buried in a massive, ancient book. Her fingers were stained with ink and woad, her dress covered in stone dust where they’d spent the morning chiselling the runes back into definition on the portal stone. Despite being so unkempt, the matriarch looked happier and healthier than she ever had in the castle. Perhaps the weight of her position weighed more heavily that Hermione had guessed and the older witch presented as much of a front as she had when she had been Locum Matriarch.

With a resigned sigh, Hermione began again. Her magic jumped to obey, streaming into the runes and activating each set in turn - the series of protection runes first that would activate the barrow wraiths as a portal connected to it, wholeness of body; that was to keep the traveller in one piece, location runes to identify the location the stone was in, connecting and channelling runes...’ This had been the point where every previous attempt had fallen apart. She had to draw her attention away from the runes for a while to connect the enchantment with the lay line beneath them and in that interval the magic always seemed to run away from her. She carefully monitored the amount of power that left her, making her that there was never enough left undirected for it to achieve any mischief. Finally, she connected to the lay line, forging a link between the two and she returned as quickly as possible to the runes on the stone. There was another set of protection runes, then a set to instruct the portal to close after a certain time, finished up with a group that was termed an “abbreviation”. That was a set of runes that specified a series of actions that could be used to activate the whole assembly.

She shut off the flow of magic with a flourish and opened her eyes to see the misty gateway. It looked exactly the same as any other portal she’d been through, which could only be a good thing. Gorlois was casting diagnostics on it and the magic that trailed between his hands glowed different colours as each spell returned results.

‘Everything seems to be in order. You’ll have no excuses not to attend lessons here now.’ He winked at her and Hermione laughed.

‘We really must be returning now though, I cannot stay away for too long with Alice and her allies up to no good.’ Lady Grindelwald had stood and brushed lichen stains from her dress as she spoke.

‘War waits for no man.’ Gorlois said sagely with a solemn nod. ‘Might I request a moment alone with Hermione before you leave?’

Hermione followed the spirit back to The Barrow and down into the main room. She liked to think she knew every room by now - the library with Morgana’s statue on the wall, the hulking figure of Galanan in the two armouries and the cluttered mess of the storage room which for some reason was the preferred gathering ground of the ghosts.

Gorlois took her to the treasury first. Hermione was not one of those girls that loved gold and riches; she never had been, and the casual opulence of Grindelwald castle had only further dimmed her concern. The Gorlois treasure trove was probably small in comparison, but every item was priceless just for its sheer historical value. There was an ivory box waiting on one of the many shelves and Gorlois handed it to her.

‘Lady Grindelwald tells me you have a comb to represent your position as a ward of her house. You have the seal, but we have discussed it and wanted you to have something more visible to represent us.’

Hermione took the box and looked it over to find the opening. It was carved with a thick pattern of Celtic knots which seemed to wrap seamlessly around every inch of the surface. Eventually she gave up looking for a manual lock and ordered it to open magically. The knots unravelled, snaking and bunching back up into themselves. The box opened easily, the lid lifting off to reveal... her first thought was that they couldn’t actually expect her to wear a crown, then she got over her initial shock and lifted it out of the box to look at more closely.

It was heavy, made of gold but inlaid with a dark stone, to that the gold was only visible as intricate Celtic knots. Most of the circlet was a band as wide as her finger, but over her forehead it flared out into a wide diamond shape onto which the wolf-dog had been worked. It fitted her perfectly of course and there were no obnoxiously glittering gems, no priceless stone. In fact, she could probably get away with wearing it everyday in the wizarding world if she felt so inclined.

It fitted perfectly of course and hummed with powerful protective charms. Her family loved protective runes - various family members approached her at all hours of the day to teach her their favourites. Once, she’d caught one of the skeleton guardians painting runes over an irritated Katana with blue paint and she hadn’t missed that every area of blank space on his harness was now filled with delicate embroidered enchantments. The blue fluff stuck between the joints of the two guardians in their alcoves had been a rather strong clue as to the culprit. Initially she had found it annoying, but the practice had started to grow on her - she was their first magical child in centuries and they wanted her protected.

‘Lady Grindelwald tells us you’ve been challenged to a duel, to take place before Yule?’ Gorlois commented gravely. Hermione stilled; in all the drama of the last few weeks, she’d almost forgotten about the duel but now it rushed back to the forefront of her mind. She occluded quickly, suppressing the associated emotions before she could become too nervous.

‘Yes.’ She confirmed.

‘There is not much we can give you to help. Lady Grindelwald has informed me of the conditions and we cannot equip you better that her house already has. We have several accomplished duellers among us, Mordred in particular is keen to assist you. He has requested you take him with you in the hopes that he can educate you.’

‘Mordred? Wasn’t he a bad guy?’ She demanded quickly. The names of those around her often took different roles in the legends, but Mordred was pretty reliably the bad guy in every story. Gorlois looked more than a little uncomfortable.

‘He was a dark wizard at the end of his life, but he began life as a good knight and was led astray by loss and anger. He is brave and knowledgable and hopes for the chance at redemption by being your teacher.’

Hermione was fairly certain redemption didn’t quite work like that, but Gorlois seemed to believe itto be a good idea.

‘How do I take him with me then?’ She asked, looking around incase there was yet another bowl of woad somewhere; everything around here seemed to involve the blue dye. Gorlois watched her with bemusement, it seemed she’d missed something else that was common sense to him. She huffed in frustration, wishing he understood that in the normal, modern world, dead people stayed dead. He turned back to the treasury and picked up a long bundle wrapped in cloth. He didn’t pass it to her, instead she stepped up closer and pulled aside the wrappings.

The bundle contained a massive sword. Unlike the swords she read about in stories, there was no gold on the hilt or scabbard and no massive gemstone in the pommel. Instead, there was a very well worn, knotted leather strip wrapped around the hilt and an equally scratched and dented piece of plain steel as the pommel and cross guard.

‘I don’t understand?’ Hermione eventually announced after a thorough inspection of the blade. She couldn’t draw it of course, it was only slightly shorter than she was and she doubted she could lift the blade even with both hands.

‘You’ll have to undo the wrappings around the hilt to see the exact runework, but I would advise refraining until you know the proper way to re-wrap them. Spoiling a knight’s sword is unlikely to create a good first impression.’ Gorlois chuckled. ‘Now, let’s not keep your Matriarch waiting. You can introduce yourself to him when you get home.’

She was bustled up the stairs with hardly a chance to wave goodbye to the spirits she’d met. Lady Grindelwald was already waiting with all three mounts saddled and a bulging, book-shaped sack strapped behind her saddle. Hermione had no idea how the woman had managed to talk the very protective ghosts into releasing even a single item from their knowledge hoard. Gorlois strapped the sword behind Hermione’s saddle, then gave her a leg up onto Katana’s back.

Their departure was quick after that. It was, as seemed to be the way in Scotland, foggy so they only had to walk past two cairns before the Barrow was out of sight. The portal was in the opposite direction to the ritual circle but at roughly the same distance, and was definitely not worth flying. Their hooves squelches wetly as they walked and the pack horse mewled in distress as it wandered sideways and sunk up to it’s knees in the bog that bordered the track.

‘Lady Grindelwald?’ Hermione eventually asked once they’d carefully extracted the Granian’s delicate legs. The older witch turned in her saddle and Hermione nudged Katana up behind her. Katana was much taller than the Granian, so she found herself in the unusual position of being on an almost equal height to the high witch. ‘What is a high priestess?’

‘I suppose you need to understand the difference between the coven and your following. A coven must be formed of thirteen and it allows us to perform more powerful rituals than we would separately. In essence, it creates a bridge between our magics that we may cross as required. As the leader, I have no more real power than any other in the circle; it is, in essence, a position that may be removed at any time.’ Hermione nodded, she’d read most of this after Anneken had asked to join her coven.

‘Now, a High Priestess is the leader of a Sect, which is different to a coven because those who are part of the Sect share their magic. Any one of the members can call on you for assistance, and you in turn can direct the entire collective power, using any member as the conduit. It has, of course, fallen out of fashion because very few witches and wizards wish to bind themselves to completely to a single individual.’

They had pulled their horses to a stop by the portal and Lady Grindelwald opened it for them with practiced ease. The two witches rode through, hair whipping wildly around them and emerged into the familiar, snowy hilltop of their German home.

Katana, recognising that they were almost home and within minutes of his warm, mud-free stall, spread his wing and began flapping impatiently and Hermione had to harshly rein him in as Lady Grindelwald swung from her mount.

‘Be still, Katana.’ Hermione hissed as Lady Grindelwald’s face scrunched in concern. Peering at the snow in the same way as her Matriarch, Hermione finally saw what had immediately caught Lady Grindelwald’s attention. The multitude of prints in the ground was not unexpected, considering the number of people that had arrived at the castle, what was unusual though, was that a significant number of them were fresh, and all of the fresh prints were heading in the direction of the castle. That meant, Hermione realised, a significant number of witches and wizards had arrived who had not left the same way that morning. Ergo, the arrivals were not among those who had been welcomed into safety several weeks ago.

‘I want you to take the mounts back through the portal to Orkney.’ Lady Grindelwald instructed sternly. ‘Everything we can afford to leave behind, leave. Carry everything we cannot. If they are able, ask them to care for the mounts, then return and wait for me.’

Hermione nodded and took the reins of both Lady Grindelwald’s Granians. In a blast of wind, she was standing once more on the misty moors of Orkney. She trotted the beasts back along the track to The Barrow where Gorlois was already waiting, flanked by a pair of skeletal guards. His face was deeply etched with concern.

‘What happened?’ He demanded as Hermione swung from Katana’s back.

‘Invaders at the castle. Lady Grindelwald suggested I leave the mounts with you so that we can proceed on foot.’

Gorlois looked over the beasts and shrugged.

‘We can.’ With his assistance, Hermione removed the harness and luggage from their beasts, splitting most of it into a pile that could remain. One of the skeletons reappeared with three ornate halters and a strap of leather which Gorlois used to strap Mordred’s sword between Hermione’s shoulder blades. He insisted that she wear the crown with its powerful protective enchantments, but the box remained behind. Lady Grindelwald’s staff was then hung crossways over the sword, and everything else was deemed unnecessary.

The skeletons lugged all of the gear down into the Barrow whilst Gorlois walked Hermione back to the portals. The soundtrack of Katana’s mournful shrieks echoed all the way to the standing stones and less than an hour later, Hermione was crawling back through the portal to the snowscape of Blau Berg.

Lady Grindelwald arrived half an hour later, dress grubby, twigs in her hair and a grim expression on her face.

‘They’ve surrounded the castle, but it looks like the wards are holding them at bay. We need to get back inside and find out what’s going on.’

That sounded awfully difficult to Hermione, but Lady Grindelwald seemed unconcerned as she took back her staff and led the way into the woods. The undergrowth was mostly clear and dry, frozen branches crunched beneath their feet as they made their way down the hill. They kept clear of the path and kept an eye on the sky incase anyone flew overhead. They remained undisturbed as they reached the river and turned left, following it down the valley.

Hermione didn’t recognise the waterfall until Lady Grindelwald stopped and begun to take off her boots. The mossy curtains had frozen into jagged, icy teeth and the water bubbled like a dark potion between the frosted rocky spines that made up the shore. Reluctantly, Hermione copied here, removing her boots and knotting the laces together around the hilt of the sword on her back.

The water was freezing and she had to stuff her fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Lady Grindelwald helped her walk against the powerful current and together they plunged through the glacial waterfall and into the darkness of the cave behind.

The matriarch was quick to cast drying charms over them and their sodden, heavy clothes and both women quickly pulled their boots back on.

The silvery ghosts that had thronged the cave last time were still present, stirring with silent agitation as the two witches passed through. They were muttering ominously, but their words were unintelligible and they fell silent as the witches passed, watching them with dark eyes before breaking out into agitated muttering again. She could see now why they were ‘impressions’ rather than the spirits of Hermione’s family - they had far less substance than the other ghosts both in appearance and magical presence. Collectively, they were powerful but individually they were barely a whisper.

They passed the large stone where Hermione had been initiated into the family last summer and later the three brightly glowing handprints that marked the three living family members. She took a brief solace in the pulsing heartbeat of Gellert’s hand before hastily following Lady Grindewald’s fading witchlight into the depths of the cave.

It narrowed quickly before coming to an abrupt end. A pool of water had gathered at this low point but Lady Grindelwald stepped unhesitatingly out into it. The older witch walked out along the inky surface, unaware of Hermione’s slack jaw. Why hadn’t they done this with the last bit of freezing water?

Eventually she gathered herself and followed Lady Grindelwald across the water... ah, there were actually massive stepping stones just below the surface, there was no fancy spell work involved. She hopped cautiously across the expanse, and reached Lady Grindelwald on the last stone before the back wall.

‘Is that sword of yours sharp?’ The matriarch demanded and Hermione shrugged.

‘I imagine. Nothing else down there seemed aged.’

The older woman heaved the sword from it’s scabbard in a motion which almost sent the young witch tumbling from the stone and into the water. It gleamed in the witchlight, the edge was worn but lethally sharp.

‘Smear some blood on the wall.’ Lady Grindelwald instructed and both witches cut their hands on the razor edge before wiping the blade off on their cloaks and returning it to it’s sheath. They smeared their blood across the stone, then Lady Grindelwald stepped off the last stepping stone... and straight through the cavern wall.

Hermione’s eyes bugged before she followed quickly. A cool feeling passed over her, and when she opened her eyes again she stood in a distinctly man-made tunnel. It was damp with slick slime growing over the walls and spongy dirt coating the floor.

The small entrance narrowed even further at the base of a long, dark flight of stairs.

The climb was very long with a small room every hundred steps of so where they could catch their breath. When they finally reached the top, an old wooden doorway blocked the way. It opened with a squeal of hinges and the two witches emerged, blinking, into the dim light of the dungeons beneath the castle.

They hurried up the staircase and bust into the bright entrance hall, surprising a pair who stood guard over the locked floo room.

‘Lady Grindelwald!’ The one on the left cried in relief, after taking a moment to recognise the wild and grubby woman.

‘Yes, where can I find the coven?’ She demanded. The two men shared a look that sent ice pooling in Hermione’s stomach.

‘In the South Tower, Mi’lady. You’re not home a moment too soon.’

Hermione tailed her matriarch into the tower and froze in the doorway. She had expected twelve, but only four figures stood around the chart table.

‘Where is everyone?’ Lady Grindelwald demanded, horror plain in her voice.

‘Arika and Rose are being seen by healers, the others...’ Herr Friedl trailed off.

‘The others were captured. We were led into a trap at Tunninger House.’


	47. Found

‘I think something’s following us.’ Berg paused in his scramble up from the cargo harness, peering back behind them. Gellert twisted around in his seat and squinted behind them. It was difficult to tell because snow billowed thickly around them, swirling and eddying with each massive wing beat.

There was a dark patch that seemed unusually constant for the snowstorm but he couldn’t be certain that it was following them. Or even that it was something more than a strange eddy caused by their passage.

‘Perhaps we should go lower, see if the air gets any clearer.’ Gellert suggested. With ease equal to Berg’s he clambered up the shifting, feathery neck and relayed their idea into the tufted ears of the bird. The wings stopped beating, fanning out to either side of them to begin a slow descent.

It was perhaps the biggest tell that something was indeed following them when not only did the dark patch fail to disappear, but it also dipped to follow them.

‘Drop?’ Berg suggested, startlingly close to Gellert’s ear. He’d climbed up the bird’s neck behind him.

‘Yes. Let’s see if we can lose it.’

Star must have heard them because a moment later the world pitched on its axis. The massive wings pulled arrow-like against their side and they dove like a falling star. Wind whistled in their ears, the snow battered their exposed faces and stripped away their warming charms in moments. Gellert’s stomach dropped out from under him and he was driven hard into his seat as the massive wings snapped open again with an air shaking boom and their sudden decent pulled up to level again, snowy treetops skimming by only feet below them. Both boys listened intently, a moment later a much fainter but distinctively different boom of compressed air beneath wings.

‘It’s a beast, leathery wings.’ Gellert was more than familiar with that sound from Hermione’s tendency to imitate lightning strikes when riding Katana.

‘Thestral?’

‘Probably.’ He replied, because Katana would have overtaken them in moments if it really was him.

‘What should we do?’ Berg asked. Gellert had barely taken breath to answer when the decision was made for them. A bolt of crimson light exploded in front of them. Star screeched, veered sideways and clipped a treetop. His right wing pulled in instinctively and Gellert jumped, dragging Berg with him, instinctively knowing that they would be safer crashing alone than risking it with the heavy and much stronger bird.

The trees weren’t very tall and the ground was soft with pine needles, so Gellert was barely even winded when he landed. He sprung up almost immediately, dragging Berg with him and charging down a shallow incline towards where trees were still crunching beneath the panicking bird. They batted aside branches, covering each other in snow which melted almost immediately with the heat of their exertion. Gellert thrust his hands out, magic following his movement and blasting a swath of trees off their root. They made quick progress from there, leaping over decimated boughs and dashing towards the golden-yellow speck that was Star. The bird meanwhile had also clambered up and was screeching desperately, massive head swinging around as it trampled yet more trees.

‘Star!’ Gellert bellowed and the bird’s beady eyes fixed on them. The beast crouched, ready to take off, body crouched low so that the two boys could take a running jump for his harness. It was a manoeuvre they had been practicing for fun each morning, and now it seemed they would use it in anger.

Flawlessly, both boys leapt, slamming into soft feathers as hands confidently found handles. Wings surged downwards and they shot up, scything between a pair of circling thestrals. Star screeched and Gellert twisted outwards, wand brandishing to cast a barrage of jinxes. The thestrals screeched as they were caught in the downdraft of massive wings and a moment later they were clear, climbing steadily into the fog. They flew in one direction for a long minute, then wheeled through ninety degrees and climbed a fair way. Then they turned again and flew in a completely random direction.

They flew for hours, well past when they would usually have set down for the night. The two boys scampered across the shifting feathers and dangled from swinging claws to check and tend to the minor injuries Star had sustained, applying a liberal dose of miraculously unsmashed honey to each bead of blood and using Berg’s clever bruise healing charm on any tender spots. Star was getting as good at this as they were, adjusting his flight patterns quickly as they moved and gliding for long stretches to give them a chance to get out along his wings.

They thought they’d managed to get away, there had been no sign of pursuit of any form. The sky cleared and the moon lit the world silver. All of their various scrapes and bruises were tended to, pine needles combed from their hair and clothes and the adrenaline of their rapid escape had faded into warm contentedness as they lounged on the wide back, feet propped up on one wing.

Then six black shaped winked into being around them. It took the two drowsy boys a moment too long to react and a cloaked figure dropped from above, landing solidly on Star’s back. The bird squarked in surprise and fear, banking heavily to one side before being herded back onto course by a brandished wand at point blank range. With the boarding party only meters away they were forced to the ground in a slow, steady glide to a large field. Six more mounted figured awaited their arrival and within moments of touching the ground a colossal collar had been conjured around Star’s neck, firmly anchoring him to the ground. Gellert and Berg dismounted under twelve readied wands and were quickly moved away from the beast.

Then, one of the wands flared to life and was shoved in their direction. There was a pause, then a deep, throaty laugh.

‘Grindelwald!’ Followed by, ‘and young Tunninger. You two have caused quite a stir.’

‘Herr Dolohov?’ He asked incredulously. It was, and that was Frau Dolohov behind him, and off to the left, the one who’d landed on Star’s back was Frau Rusev.

‘Oh thank the stars. Finally.’ Berg sagged to the grassy floor. Gellert almost joined him, but instead he found himself asking about Hermione.

‘She was more than okay last time we heard; ripped into the headmaster of Durmstrang for not doing a good enough job of looking after you two, lit the beacon when Tunninger House fell, then managed to keep a veil beast out at Samhain.’

‘Tunninger House fell?’ Berg asked, horrified, from where he was sitting on the grass.

‘So it seems.’ Frau Dolohov turned pitying eyes on the boy on the floor. ‘Unfortunately, it seems your sister took down the wards from the inside.’

Her words were met by complete silence, then Berg sighed heavily.

‘Was it Dumortier?’ He asked in resignation. To the bafflement of both boys, the Russian coven members who had picked them up shared baffled looks.

‘Dumortier? What’s he got to do with it?’ Herr Dolohov asked and Gellert and Berg shared wide eyed looks.

‘He’s the one that’s training Alice for the duel, and he’s done something funny with his portal! Berg, you got it, tell them quickly!’ He babbled, staggering forwards with the urgency of his speech. Herr Dolohov caught him and set him upright again. Somewhat embarrassed, Gellert turned to Berg and gestured for him to speak.

‘They’ve made a new portal, but there’s no identity clause, so the barrow wraiths won’t be woken, so they can come through even if they mean harm.’

The Russian coven shared looks, then seemed to come to a decision.

‘Come on, we’re only an hour’s flight from home. How about we settle that mighty beast of yours, get you two a bath and you tell us the full story?’ Frau Dolohov flicked her wand and the chains holding Star vanished. The bird shook himself, then snapped irritably at the witch standing too close.

‘Stay close, we’ve spent weeks trying to track you down.’ Frau Rusev said with a grin, swinging up onto her Thestral. Berg scoffed, seeming to have regained a considerable amount of his energy at the mention of a bath. Gellert took a moment to update Star on the situation, then swung easily up the ladder to his back as the various beasts around them took flight. It was strange to be flying in company after so long - Star’s wingspan was truly colossal and the thestrals kept drifting too close and getting caught in the turbulence from their wings.

It was strange to land in the manicured lawns of the Dolohov’s palace. Lights twinkled from the many windows and elves popped up to take the reins of the various beasts. The coven hung off to one side as the boys clambered over the ever-patient Star, undoing the fastenings on his harness and passing it off to the elves. Berg lectured one elf on exactly what meat Star liked best - he really wasn’t a fan of reptiles, sheep or other birds whilst Gellert recruited the coven’s healer (who didn’t speak a word of German) to help him tend more thoroughly to the bumps and scratches that they’d obtained in their earlier crash landing.

It felt like a long time later that Gellert sank into a warm, foamy bath in the brightly lit, ornately decorated bathroom. An elf changed that water three times as Gellert washed months of dirt, blood and sweat from his skin.

He dried quickly and dressed in clothes that seemed impossibly soft after so long in the course clothing they’d been given by the muggles. An elf sat him in front of a mirror and began to comb out his matted snare of hair and for the first time since Durmstrang he took in his appearance.

His skin was dark, tanned to a warm brown that made his lightened hair look snowy white. His cheekbones stuck out sharply from his face and his chin was sharply pointed, his cheeks hollow concaves as if he was sucking them in. He ran his fingers over the unfamiliar planes, wondering if Hermione would even recognise him. A pang throbbed through his chest as he wondered why she had stopped looking for him, or even his mother. Why was it the Russians who had picked him up, rather than his own mother’s coven?

He left as soon as the elf hand managed to half tame his hair and he arrived at the dining room long before Berg. A massive, mouthwatering meal had been laid out but for the first time in his entire life, he went straight for the vegetables.

As he ate, the coven began explain what had happened on their end - they’d received a letter days after they’d gone missing and the entire coven had mustered to find them. Hermione had taken the role of Locum Matriarch and roasted the Durmstrang headmaster. They’d looked for him for a week, then Alice had gone missing from school and Tunninger Manor had fallen. There’d been a couple of days of panic as things were coordinated, then out of the blue the Grindewald family had received an owl bearing the bloodied cloaks and hats of both boys. A letter had informed them that both boys were dead, but of course neither boy had been dead in their family magic; infact, Lady Grindelwald had shared that she could feel him growing stronger by the day. So, she’d pretended to be fully taken in by the performance and had focused her efforts on keeping the occupiers of Tunninger Manor, whom she had been convinced was responsible for his kidnapping, occupied with constant raids and attacks whilst the Russian coven took over searching for them.

Of course, the Russian had had as much luck as the Germans, until they received a report of a theft performed by two wizarding boys, describes as wild, grubby and German. They’d not had much to go on from that, but then there’d been an incident where a muggle farmer had become convinced he’d seen two fey with their pet bird. They’d obliviated him, but not before taking the memory to view in a pensive.

From there, they knew what they were looking for and what rough speed and direction, but Russia was a very large country and a single bird, particularly flying so high, was very hard to find. It had been chance, Frau Dolohov revealed, that had them crossing paths with the two Atanastovas on a leisure flight, and from there they’d tried to stop them, which resulted in the crash. The coven regrouped and started searching under disillusionment until they could bring them down in a more controlled manner.

It was a long enough story, then came the time for Gellert to share his own.


	48. Mordred

Hermione sat the sword on her nightstand, then changed her mind and hefted it over to the bed - would he appear lying down? She changed her mind again and put the sword on the floor, that way he would be good if he appeared standing, lying or sitting. Then she just sat there for a moment, staring at the sword on the floor and wondering what on earth she was meant to be doing with it. It was plain, the dark brown leather scabbard decorated only with a small amber bead on a string tied around the top.

‘Er, Hi Mordred?’ She tried, feeling rather foolish... then because that didn’t seem magical enough she rephrased it. ‘I summon you to speak with me, Mordred.’

The formal wording made her feel even more foolish, if that were possible.

Deciding on a different tack, she brushed her hand over the hilt, pushing her magic into it. He was there, she could feel the consciousness inside the weapon. He was aware of his magical surroundings, although perhaps not the physical, considering he was trapped inside a sword. His magic was hot, dark fire. It was the closest magic she’d ever felt to her own, almost the same except dark where hers was light. Then she noticed a bond, part of the nexus of family magic that stretched from him to her. Experimentally, she tugged on it. Then she sent a firm command along it to wake.

It pulsed with bright life, then she heard the amused chuckling of a man. She opened her eyes to look at him. He lounged on the floor opposite her, dressed in a long mail coat and a red, fur trimmed cloak. Unlike the previous spirits that she’d seen, he was in full colour, with his dark hair tumbling wildly around his ears and oddly red lips. He still held a distinctively ghostly quality, and left no depressions on the rug where his hands rested.

‘I summon you to speak with me?’ He asked, arching a brow. ‘Are you sure you’ve only been High Priestess for a week?’

Hermione scowled at him.

‘Yes. I thought you were meant to teach me, not mock me.’ She grouched and Mordred chuckled again, pushing himself to his feet and taking a stroll around her room. He stopped several times, first at the tapestry, then at her dresser where both the Grindelwald comb and her new crown sat on a little pillow. He seemed very interested by her battle dress, then his eyes widened as he looked out of the window.

‘Nobody told me you were under siege.’ He leaned up against the sill, his dark eyes scanning the ring of tents that surrounded the castle. It wasn’t many, perhaps twenty at best but they were all seasoned fighters and perhaps more importantly, held half the Coven hostage.

‘Nobody told me either. Trust me, we’d rather not be.’ She wasn’t sure whether she liked him. He was clearly intelligent, she could see it in his dark eyes, but something was very off with him. Perhaps it was in his magic, or his manner. He looked at her like he could read her mind, despite her reinforced occlumency shields.

‘It seems a rather passive siege. Do you know much of the situation?’

‘A reasonable amount. We outnumber them but we believe they have more skill, but more importantly, they have half of the Coven hostage.’

‘Half? What in Woden’s name happened?’Mordred exclaimed, pacing across the window in agitation.

‘I believe it was a somewhat misguided and emotional attempt at retaking Tunninger Manor.’ Hermione said carefully, ‘Alice Tunninger, the witch that I am due to duel, took down her family wards from the inside.’

‘Well, this is sticky. Its a large enough space and you don’t seem to cramped. Provisions?’

‘Plenty. The family gardens and herds are supplemented by the general public.’

‘So no rush. If I were them, I’d be planning something on the day of your duel.’

‘Yule.’ Hermione added and Mordred nodded.

‘Now, you say I’m meant to be training you. Get dressed and we’ll go outside, I like the look of that lawn.’

He faded and a moment later Hermione was left in her room with nothing but a sword. She pulled on the duelling robes quickly and hefted the sword, lugging it down the stairs and out the lawn as instructed. There, she dropped the sword onto the grass and Mordred reappeared. He still wore his chain mail, but now there was a sword hung at his waist; an exact replica of the one on the ground.

He stretched, turning his face up to the sun and she noticed with some surprise that he was much more solid this time. The grass depressed beneath his leather boots and when he drew the sword and spun it, it whistled through the air viciously.

‘This feels wonderful. Alright, let’s see how you fight.’ He instructed, spinning his massive sword again as though it weighed nothing.

‘It’s a spell fight, not a sword fight.’ Hermione pointed out, looking dubiously at his expert moves. She absolutely did not want to be on the receiving end of that.

‘Come now, you know sword fighting is an excellent foundation for duelling. I want to see how you move before we worry about magic.’ He sighed. Hermione summoned an elf and asked it to fetch her sword. It reappeared a moment later with a pop, the weapon held in it’s hand. She’d been taught to fight with a three-musketeers style rapier, short so that it wasn’t unwieldy for her small form. Something told her her sword was designed for a completely different style of fighting and that her thin blade wouldn’t stand a chance under the sheer weight and power of Mordred’s.

The spirit knight took the weapon curiously and unsheathed it, bending the flexible blade a couple of times. He swished it once of twice, then muttered dubiously and gestured for Hermione to square up against a conjured wooden post. She demonstrated a couple of her best moves, then his sword intercepted hers with a loud clang. His wrist twisted, the bigger sword looping around her smaller one with a shing, and then flicking it out of her hand. It sailed through the air, glittering, before landing in the grass several meters away.

‘You’re not trying to look pretty, you’re trying to chop it’s legs off before it chops off yours. Stop twirling.’ He scolded, then pointed at the heavy, Saxon sword in the grass a couple of meters away. ‘Use that one.’

‘But its heavy, I can barely lift it.’ She moaned as she shuffled over and wrapped her hand around the handle. It slid from the scabbard with a fluid hiss and she wrapped both hands around the hilt, lifting the point to eye level. It was heavy, but not actually as bad as she had expected. It felt like lifting a bag of sugar, heavy but not unbearable although swinging it around might be another story. Mordred opened his arms invitingly, his left hand holding his replica sword out to one side whilst his other motioned at her to strike him.

She swung, lunging with her left foot, lifting the sword up above her head and bringing it crashing down in a vertical arch. Mordred slid smoothly to the right, curving his body away from the blade. Suddenly, deprived of even the expected parry, she found herself off balance. The momentum of the plunging sword carried it downwards until it sunk into the grass with a dull thud. She huffed and tugged at it twice, then gave up the effort as futile, crossing her arms and glaring at her.

‘I thought you said no twirling.’ She huffed.

Mordred laughed, ‘That was a dodge, not a twirl. See here, I’ve only moved one foot. Minimal movement, minimal energy - efficient and quick, less chance of tripping over.’ He pointed to the single depression where one of his feet had once stood. Hermione sneered, but recognised his point. She tugged with more commitment at the blade embedded in the grass, succeeding in pulling it out in inch long increments.

‘Try again. This time, remember your balance.’ Mordred instructed. This time he held his sword ready, hovering at about eye level. Hermione wavered for a moment, the sword flickering from side to side as she decided what to do. Then she swung sideways, cutting down diagonally from left to right. Mordred’s sword shot up and they collided with an impact that shook down her arm. She drew back and cut again, this time aiming for his knees. He blocked it with another arm shaking clang, and she quickly tried again, aiming for his head on the other side. Her blade glanced off this time, not as painful, but it sent the sword tumbling out of her hand and once more into the grass. She moaned in dismay.

‘Better, but you’re predictable.’

‘Sure, because you’re making me swing around a heavy lump of metal.’ The young witch grumbled as she started working the sword out of the dirt again.

‘It’s not heavy.’ Mordred argued as he spun his expertly again, twirling it between his fingers like a twig. ‘You’ll get stronger. But for now, try not to look at what you’re trying to hit.’

‘How am I meant to hit what I’m not looking at?’ She demanded irritably.

‘You should be looking everywhere, at my eyes, my torso, arm, legs, looking for an opening, but don’t stare at it, you’ll miss other things, and tell me exactly what you’re about to do.’

They moved again, this time Hermione was hyper aware of exactly where she was looking. It was sweaty, hard work that left her arms burning but by the time he finally called a break, she actually felt like she’d improved. Mordred vanished back into the sword and Hermione almost left the lawn before remembering her own discarded rapier in the grass. They’d moved some distance away from it whilst they were training, and she spent a little while looking for it. It had been kicked into one of the topiaries at some point and now she hefted the delicate blade and looked it over. It was lighter, and fitted her much better, but now that she’d wielded Mordred’s much larger sword, it did feel rather silly.

The few coven children that weren’t at Durmstrang were still eating lunch in the children’s dining room and all talk ceased when she appeared, hanging her rapier on the hook and Leaning Mordred’s sword against the wall.

Neele’s magic had finally bloomed and she was already loving to be as natural as her mother. Surprisingly, it seemed Frau Fleiss had chosen to teach her daughter in the same method Hermione and Gellert had learned, and now the younger witch did absolutely everything with magic. She also had an annoying habit of randomly touching Hermione’s hands to try and copy the magic she used.

Hermione sat at the opposite side of the table to her and began wolfing down lunch, ignoring all but the most essential rules of ladylike behaviour. She received a snide update on their real lessons from Yannick, who seemed to think that without the formal education framework, she would inevitably find herself falling behind and not fulfilling her full potential. Of course, Yannick also had his very rigid practice of practicing a list of spells and Hermione had already made her thoughts on that completely clear.

She departed as quickly as possible, dropping off her sword in the armoury then making her way back outside. Really, she was meant to be working in her assigned classroom, but Mordred seemed to enjoy the sunlight. He reappeared, back to his more ghostly form this time and she wondered what exactly dictated how he appeared; as much as he seemed to enjoy being outside, he was quick to return to his prison.

‘Right, first things first. You need to clean the sword. You should never put it away dirty like that.’ The next hour was spent cleaning, sharpening and oiling the sword which was calming even if it wasn’t overly productive. ‘You will practice with the sword every morning for an hour after dawn, then clean it before your regular lessons.’ Mordred instructed. Hermione restrained any annoyance as she carefully polished the pommel and slid the sword back into its sheath. Then he sat cross legged opposite her, sword between them and held his hands out, palm down. She rested her wrists on her knees, palms up and a moment later felt the cool, ghostly brush of his hands over hers.

Then, in the same way that Gellert had shown her the magical process of transfiguration, Mordred showed her how to chill the air into a fog. She found it unsettling to work with him like this; unlike Gellert’s magic which was a perfect counter for her own, Mordred’s was almost a mirror. It made it very easy to follow what he was doing, and the results were excellent as her magic seemed to act and react in exactly the same way. She wondered often whether dark magic was what changed the feel of someone’s magic - she remembered the dark oiliness of Livius Lucan, and the cold rigidity of Frau Fleiss, now Mordred had his dark fire. Had his magic once been as bright and hot as her own? It was so similar in every other way, but it seemed crass to ask, so she stifled her fears and continued following his lead. They condensed the air into mist, then burned the mist off, again and again and again until her magic itself had learned the process. She only had to think “I want mist,” and the temperature would drop and cool clouds would roll across the lawn.

They moved onto wind next, and she learned to guide the air with a magically imbued hand gesture. A gentle breeze stirred through the fog, creating swirling shapes and false eddies. Then they worked up to a stronger and stronger wind. It felt a little like her hand was a paddle and the air was water that she was trying to stir with it and the faster she moved, the harder it became.

Mordred faded just as the sun reached its afternoon heat and Hermione was left with a strong feeling that every other witch and wizard had entirely the wrong impression of magic. It wasn’t about spells and wands and power, it was about this seamless connection which allowed her to change the world around her with just a tug in the right place.


	49. Destroyed

The Dolohovs had sent an owl to Blau Berg to inform their families that they had been found, but had not yet received a reply. Unfortunately, with the way that snow swirled in heavy drifts around the palace, that probably meant the owls couldn’t get through. They’d tried flooing without expectations of success, considering the castle wards were up and had been proven correct. So, with little else to do, the two boys had taken to eating with gusto, building their bodies back up after weeks of poor diet. Berg had committed himself to the German section of the library, determined to never again watch someone dying in front of him and he’d taken to healing magic with great relish. Meanwhile, Gellert had started studying everything he could find about ancient runes; he was determined to find a way to awaken the barrow wrights even without an “identity” on the portal.

Before they knew it weeks had passed with no sign of a return owl. The bad weather subsided after a week, allowing the boys to spend long, leisurely hours gliding above the palace on Star’s back, developing battle manoeuvres to test their accuracy and agility. It was good fun, full of adrenaline filled dives and twists and brisk Russian winter air.

The Coven seemed to find their activity and enthusiasm delightful, and the members would often join them, thestrals swooping and spiralling in their wake as coloured sparks shot into conjured targets.

Their holiday drew to a close when, over dinner one day it was pointed out that three weeks had passed, which even despite the storm was enough for an owl to have reached Blau Berg and returned. They also, someone pointed out, had not received an invitation to Yule which they had assumed was an effort by Lady Grindelwald and the coven to seek some manner of privacy for Hermione’s duel with Alice, but considering the circumstances and Gellert’s position as second, they should forgo any alternative Yule celebrations and attend Blau Berg. Invitations be damned.

The initial plan was for Gellert and Berg to go through alone, but further deliberation revealed a deep seated suspicion that all was not well at the German castle. Nothing, not even a gift had reached them which was highly unusual. Eventually, they decided that half of the coven would follow the boys through to Germany, whilst the others would remain behind to protect the Russian interests.

Preparations were strung with nervous energy. Gellert and Berg barely slept a wink that night and in the early hours of the morning, Gellert gave up entirely and padded to the library to find Berg was also already up, wrapped in a thick fur blanket and reading in front of the fire.

‘Do you think something really is wrong?’ Gellert asked nervously, taking the chair opposite him and sticking his toes next to the fire.

‘I hope not, but its all suspicious. Lady Grindelwald would never not run Yule, she believes in the old ways too much.’ Berg folded his book closed, glancing twice at the ribbon as if undecided whether he would be back and able to continue from his bookmark. ‘It’s really odd that she hasn’t replied to the letter about us though, I mean you’d expect an owl to take three days of so to get here, so even if it was delayed by bad weather in Germany... well, we’d have to be very unlucky.’

‘I’m nervous. What if Hermione isn’t ready for the duel?’ Gellert admitted. Perhaps before their misadventure, he wouldn’t have confided in Berg this way. He would have protected the Grindelwald honour and never even suggested Hermione might not be up to scratch. But he knew now that Berg was his equal, despite being from different families and there was no weakness in leaning on one another. In fact, he was starting to believe that they achieved their best results without the restrictions imposed by pride, when they could work together and contribute what they each did best and fill in for each other’s weaknesses.

Berg, to his credit, didn’t just blindly reassure Gellert. He considered for a moment, gazing into the fire.

‘Hermione is not far different to Alice, magically speaking, but I’ve never heard or read of someone so... in tune with it as Hermione. I think Hermione is much better at wielding her magic than any of us. She may know less spells, but you’ve seen some of the stuff Hermione produces, she doesn’t really use spells, does she?’ Gellert nodded, remembering the snowball fight they had more than a year ago where she’d somehow woven a shield of wind and fire to fend off his mother’s storm magic.

‘Besides, I bet that family magic will come out to play at some point, like it did at the ritual. That was unreal; if she’s learned to control it, Alice will have no chance.’ Gellert added, feeling considerably better.

‘You know, duelling lessons over the holidays are going to be a nightmare. She’s going to smash you, then you’ll have been beaten by your younger sister!’ Berg jabbed him in the arm and Gellert moaned, dropping his head into his hands.

‘Think how much school we will have missed. Do you think we’ll have to sit our exams still?’ It wasn’t much of a concern, both boys were already a long way ahead of their classmates, having been tutored since they were young. Some subjects though, such as Ethics and Ancient Magic would take lots of essay writing and reading of heavy, dry tomes to catch up on.

‘We could do an essay on the ethics of magically hunting creatures, for food and sport.’ Suggested Berg cheerfully. It was one of the topics they’d discussed at length as Gellert tried to justify to himself why in this case he was not using dark magic.

‘How about you do something on portals for Ancient Magic. That’s fourth year stuff at least, you might get extra points.’

A knock on the door interrupted any further suggestions, and it swung open to admit Frau Dolohov. She informed them kindly that they needed to dress and come down for breakfast. Both boys jumped up, thoughts returning to the imminent duel as they hurried to their assigned rooms to dress.

Clothes had been left out for Gellert to wear, suitable for Yule if it took place that evening. A smart set of red, fur lined dress robes fastened with a gold belt buckle. Soft leather gloves and a warm fur hat. He looked like a miniature version of Herr Dolohov who wore a very similar ensemble, but he didn’t comment considering the generosity the family had shown him. Berg arrived a little later, also identically dressed, so perhaps Frau Dolohov had made the simple mistake of trusting their attire to her husband. Judging by her somewhat irritated glances in his direction, he had guess correctly.

The elves had saddled all the thestrals but had left the more unique process of saddling Star to the boys, who managed it in a new record time if six and a half minutes. Perhaps the bird could sense the boy’s excitement because he shot up into the air before the thestrals, sending the closest pair staggering sideways and blowing off someone’s hat.

‘We’re going home, Star.’ Gellert murmured as they banked left and began a slow loop, waiting until the skeletal black beasts were airborne and surrounding them like an honour guard. Then they were off, soaring over arctic white fields of snow and wintery forests. Star’s plumage gleamed golden in the weak morning sun and his wings flashed powerfully around them.

They swooped down to the portal and the coven set to opening it. It quickly became apparent that something was very wrong. They tried twice, then conferred as a group in rapid Russian before someone else tried. Still nothing. After another quick conference, and with concern etched on their faces they tried again.

The grey mist of the portal shimmered to life and the first of the coven members stepped through. Herr Dolohov rode up next to them and Gellert swung easily down the harness to perch within conversing distance of him.

‘The portal to Blau Berg won’t open. We’ve opened to the next closest and we’ll fly from there. Unfortunately I don’t think we’ll make the duel.’

Fear froze his guts to ice. He nodded and returned to Berg, conveying the news to him.

‘You don’t think they got our letter and shut it down on purpose?’ Berg suggested. Of course, that made sense and Gellert sighed in relief, relaxing. He turned back to the portal and decided to climb up to Star’s ears and explain what was about to happen as the coven worked on enlarging the portal size to let them through.

They strolled through with greater ease than any portal journey Gellert had ever made before. They emerged, blinking into the middle of a little village of log cabins. It was completely abandoned, the buildings all locked up and shuttered. The portal was built into a tower in the village square, and the beacon that was built atop it had burned out. This was a wizarding village, and clearly nobody had returned since the day Hermione lit the beacon.

Once they were all assembled and the portals returned to normal size (and didn’t that to odd things to the appearance of the tower), they took off, angling south.

The thestrals couldn’t fly high enough for Star to pass as an ordinary muggle bird, so they all flew under disillusionment charms. It was disconcerting, seeing nothing below them despite the feel of the warm, wooden saddle and hearing the whuffs of air beneath massive wings with no more than an odd shimmering either side of them. They whistled frequently, a code to help them keep track of one another. Land whipped beneath them, miles behind eaten up familiarly beneath mighty wings as they flew to Blau Berg.

It was only a matter of hours before the scenery began to become familiar, deep green forests blanketed in soft snow reared up into hills. He’d flown this far with Hermione before, her on Katana and him on his broomstick. They were less than an hour away now, the duel would probably be finishing any minute. They swept through the muggle repelling charm and over the Nachtkrapp nest. A flock of wild thestrals scattered as they sensed the invisible convoy pass, and then finally the glittering blue roofs of his home appeared. At first it was just the spires, then pearly towers. The signal came to drop down suddenly, and they banked down, circling twice on an extended wing, then settled atop a large chunk of shattered stone. It took him a moment to realise that this field of frozen earth and rock had once been the portal - the stone they stood on was gouged and corroded, the runework decimated.

‘There’s no way Lady Grindelwald did this.’ Berg voiced exactly what they’d all been thinking.

‘She’s still alive, though?’ One of the Russian coven confirmed, glancing up at Gellert. He shook his head; his mother was definitely still alive.

‘Let’s go and see if we can lend assistance. Something tells me that we would have been called upon already if the owls could get through.’

So, with ominous quiet, they launched up into the air again, climbing up above the trees and mountains and soaring towards Blau Berg.


	50. Battle

Hermione found herself paralysed by nerves when she woke up on the morning of Yule. She was ready, more than ready, she knew. Her casting was strong and fast, she was powerful even without using her family magic, which she wasn’t meant to. She’d had tutors, from Lady Grindelwald herself to the coven to an ancient dark knight.

Mordred was present and even without seeing what he was doing, Hermione was willing to put her entire allowance on him drawing blue swirls on her battle dress.

With that small spark of amusement she sat up and found to her amusement that she had been exactly correct. He was drawing runes and muttering a string of words beneath his breath like a chant. He continued for a moment after she sat up, finishing whatever part he was working on before turning to her with a bright smile. She returned it weakly.

‘Nervous? I was terrified before my first battle.’ He admitted.

‘Who was it against?’ She asked eagerly. Mordred very rarely spoke about his life and she loved any tidbits he gave her. She’d taken out every rendition of the Arthurian legends that she could get her hands on in the muggle world and she immensely enjoyed learning how events had actually unfolded.

‘Saxons.’ Mordred answered briefly, then changed the subject to the weather - very subtle.

Realistically though, these considerations were important. It was cool and dry, streaks of white clouds painted across a pale blue sky. The sun was weak but bright, just peaking over the frosted ridges and setting the icicles on her window melting into sparkling droplets.

‘Will you watch?’ She asked.

‘I’ll try.’ He promised. She still didn’t entirely understand the constraints on his manifestation, unlike the others she’d met so far. Gorlois looked and felt living, but he couldn’t leave the family properties, the skeletons were... well... skeletons. She suspected he couldn’t actually touch the sword he inhabited, and perhaps there was a certain range he could travel from it. What she didn’t understand was why he manifested in varying solidity, sometimes barely even a spirit and other times solid enough to whack with a sword.

She dressed, taking his advice to wear as little as possible beneath the battle dress, despite the temptation to wrap up in all her furs. Instead, she donned a thick cloak to keep her warm. She didn’t dare wear the crown, not when it hadn’t been specified in the rules and the item was so heavily enchanted. Lady Grindelwald knocked gently at her door before letting herself in. The matriarch nodded briefly to the spirit, then swept over to inspect Hermione from head to toe. In exactly the same matter as Hermione had minutes earlier, she sighed in fond exasperation at the artwork drawn onto her robes.

‘Ready Hermione?’ The witch asked, straightening Hermione’s collar and tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

‘I think so.’ She said, trying to sound confident.

‘You’ll do well, now come along, it’s almost time.’

Hermione quickly picked up Mordred’s sword and followed her matriarch down the tower to the ground floor. The castle was deserted; everyone already waiting at the ring that had been pegged out the day before. She practiced the breathing exercises Mordred had taught her to calm herself and wake her magic. Anger and fear would make her magic instinctive and uncontrollable, so she needed to calm herself. Control, accuracy, efficiency were the keys to winning.

They heard the crowd before they saw them, a babble of excited talk rolling over the grounds. Witches and wizards mobbed the walls, thronged the air on broomsticks and crowded the grass beyond the gates. A path was marked by stakes and string and a hush fell as she began to make her way down it. Within moments, everyone was silent. Necks craned to catch a glimpse of Hermione as she passed.

The arena was about twenty meters wide and probably half again as long, marked by stakes and string and a ring of protective wards to keep the spectators safe. It was neatly marked in the space just in front of the gates, so there was a slight unevenness to the floor from the many beasts that traversed the area. Otherwise it was flat dirt with a slight buzz of green grass towards the edges. A wooden platform had been built at both ends, one platform for each party. The opposite one was still empty but Herr Lintzen was sat in a throne like chair on his platform at the midpoint of the pitch. His left leg was still heavily bandaged but he held his wand ready and his staff leaned up against his arm.

Lady Grindelwald took her seat on their platform and Hermione sat next to her, centre stage. She propped up Mordred’s sword against her seat and glanced sideways to the chair designated for her second. Gellert was still absent and would not be filling the position. Her heart panged painfully and she forcefully redirected her thoughts. She really should start saturating the area with her magic and familiarising herself with what she had to work with on that particular day.

That was how she felt the approaching part long before they crested the rise. She opened her eyes to see Alice at the front of a band of witches and wizards. She wore bright white robes and could have looked angelic if it wasn’t for the dark expression on her face. She paused briefly on her platform as the man that followed right behind her took his seat. She felt Lady Grindelwald tense beside her and curse. Behind them, murmurs suggested a number of the crowd recognised the wizard.

Hermione didn’t recognise the man, but within moments Alice’s party was settled and Herr Lintzen called them forwards and she had no more time to consider it. She stood, shared a nod with Mordred, who had somehow changed his clothing so that he wore a long, navy cloak. He could have passed as a modern wizard. Lady Grindelwald pressed a soft kiss to her brow and sent her off with a wish for luck.

Then, Hermione was alone. Her boots crunched in the gravel, the sound of the crowd faded and her focus zeroed on Alice. The other witch had grown since they’d last met both physically and magically and she towered over Hermione when they finally stopped, chest to chest in front of Herr Lintzen.

‘Been letting the children at your robes, Hermione?’ Alice sneered, looking her over from head to toe.

‘Never seen Pictish runes?’ Hermione hissed in return, tossing her braid over her shoulder. Alice’s expression wavered slightly, then hardened again. Hermione smirked. ‘Well, get on with it then.’

Both witches reached out with their right hands, clasping wrists so that the matching black bangles they wore clinked together. Herr Lintzen hobbled over, leaning heavily on his staff.

‘Hermione, ward of the ancient house of Grindelwald. I, Alice, Matriarch of the ancient house of Tunninger...’ The rest of Alice’s repeated challenge was drowned in cries of fear and rage from the assembled witches and wizards. For Alice to have received the title, her parents must be dead and the last anyone knew of it, both Tunninger parents had been in the custody of Alice’s allies.

‘You... you killed your parents?’ Hermione hissed, tightening her grip around the other witch’s wrist.

‘Of course I did, after your little outburst at Harvest I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance without my own family magic to back me up. Neither of my parents would even talk to me, let along pass on the title. So I took it.’ Alice sneered condescendingly. ‘Now come along, its your turn.’

‘You bitch. Alice, Matriarch of the ancient house of Tunninger, I, Hermione Granger, High Priestess, daughter of Gorlois and ward of the ancient house of Grindelwald accept your challenge. I named Gellert, son of Frederich of the ancient house of Grindelwald as my second.’

‘I name Philip Dumortier as my second.’ Alice glanced behind her as the tall, adult wizard stepped up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. She felt the cold absence of Gellert keenly and wished it wasn’t against the rules to change one’s second. Adding a second where there hadn’t been one before? It seemed that was allowed.

Herr Lintzen scowled heavily at Alice and her second and tapped their wrists unnecessarily hard, repeating the rules of the tournament.

At the warden’s command, Dumortier retreated to the back of the arena, then silence fell. Hermione and Alice curtsied to one another, then turned their backs and paces five steps apart. Hermione spun sharply on her heel as soon as she was permitted to, nervous that Alice might try something whilst she wasn’t looking. Alice turned at a far more leisurely pace, flicking her wand out with a twirl of her sleeve. Hermione drew hers from its holster and took up an opening stance; her left foot forwards, left and stretched out with palm down and right arm curved up over her head with wand pointed directly at her opponent. It was quite a defensive stance, but was one of the easiest to start with for one of the ancient, elemental spells that Mordred had taught her.

Alice had taken up a more common form which suggested she would be going straight onto the offensive. Hermione shifted fractionally, preparing to move sideways to avoid whatever spell the other witch opened with. Ideally, she could avoid shielding as much as possible, after all she had two fights to fight today.

Then, as Herr Tunninger began counting down, she started drawing up her magic, pooling it in her hand. She watched the slight flicker of nerves twitch through Alice as the magic glowed brightly in Hermione’s palm, whilst the young witch’s wand lit blue at the tip.

‘Two,’ Herr Tunninger called. Hermione had missed the beginning of the countdown. The young witch carefully held the power; it was important that not even a wisp escaped early or she’d be breaking the rules of the duel.

‘One.’ She released both freezing charms at once. The temperature plummeted even as the wand-spell exploded into crystalline shards against Alice’s shield. A second later she dove sideways as a jet of purple flew over her shoulder. Hermione swirled her left hand and the air moved with it, as she added water to it with her wand. Within minutes they were separated by an arctic snowstorm. She stopped adding snow but kept swirling her hand, with her wand she cast a quick detection charm and found Alice had moved. Before Hermione could cast, a horizontal pulse sliced through her storm. She dropped into a crouch as it scythed the air above her, then send three silent jinxes at the spot Alice had last been.

Alice quickly tired of the snowstorm, and began trying to dismantle it. She cast finite several times, a flash of gold illuminating the swirls of snow, then followed up with several more ineffectual spells that Hermione assumed were also cancelling charms of some kind. Unfortunately for Alice, there was no spell to cancel, so Hermione used her distraction to solidify some of the snow into an icy wall for cover.

A spell whizzed over her head and Hermione cursed, realising she’d lost track of Alice’s position. She ducked, casting another locating charm then threw herself sideways as the spot she’d been standing exploded into a cloud of dust and gravel leaving a crater.

Her ice wall took another blasting charm for her and Hermione scrambled up and several more feet to the left. Alice’s white robes were a much better camouflage than Hermione’s black ones in this snow, so Hermione gave up on it.

She threw both hands out in a powerful instruction for stillness, letting her magic take control and enforce her will. Everything stopped, the snow hung midair, the wind fell silent. This time, she didn’t make the mistake of relaxing. She used a colour changing charm to switch the snow to black, and suddenly Alice stood out like a ghost in the night. Hermione blasted her with a dazzling array of jinxes which were deflected by equally bright white shield charms.

She didn’t like it. Alice was as faster than she was. She needed to slow the duel down, turn it from a challenge of speed to one of skill.

She dodged a jet of fire and ducked back into the drifting black snowflakes.

A moment later, the ground beneath Alice’s feet became spongy and her next volley of spells flew wide. The older witch paused to cast finite and Hermione grinned wildly. Finite was not efficient.

Hermione turned gravel into spiders and sent them scuttling along the black snow, invisible and with painful bites. Alice grunted and seared the ground around her with a billow of flame, then directed the flame out in an uncontrolled tongue around them. It melted the snow into a thick cloud of steam which Hermione waved away with a casual breeze.

The two opponents faced one another again and watched, figures tense. Alice was breathing heavily, Hermione noted smugly.

The older witch snapped both hands forward, wand clasped between them. Black smoke poured out, solidifying into a black panther, taller than Hermione and with glowing eyes. She had no idea what to do, or even what it was. She tried a quick blast of fire, which the animal just ate, then it pounced at her. She literally threw herself sideways, landing heavily on the ground and tried to distract Alice with a conjured scarf, intent in strangling her.

The panther spun and swiped at her with a paw. Hermione was thrown sideways across the arena but her cry of pain was drowned out by the yowl of pain and fear from the panther. She glanced at it as corrosive gold light ate away the paw it had just swiped her with. One of the Pictish runes Mordred had painted that morning glowed with bright light and Hermione grinned viciously and animated the six trees behind Alice.

They shook themselves, branches clacking together. Two trees tore up their roots in explosions of dirt and advanced on Alice as the closest lunged at her with spear-like branches. A quick bit of wand work had them fireproof. She let Alice throw herself at the trees for a bit whilst she dodged the disintegrating panther.

Then, she felt the exact moment Alice reached for her family magic. Once, she had done it, well... Hermione could too.

Even as the trees were blasted into splinters, Hermione reached for her own magic. She felt them answer, her family, scattered across the distant British Isles. The two magics exploded against each other, golden Tunninger fire blasted into Gorlois wind. The two climbed up, battering one another in a sheer battle of power. Hermione quickly delegated control of it to Mordred, who worked through their Sect bond to channel through her. The sheer battle of strength didn’t falter as Hermione separated her own magic from it and began to weave her own enchantment.

Alice’s eyes were wild, reflecting the towering fire of her magic with demonic gleam. Her skin gleamed with sweat from the intensity of the magic - too much for a single person to sustain, but unlike Alice, Hermione was not alone. The air in front of her shimmered with heat, so Alice didn’t notice the additional shimmer of the barrier Hermione built around her. Then, the young witch burned the oxygen out of the air in a flash of light and fire. For a moment, Alice just seemed confused, the fire hadn’t hurt her.

Then a hand flew to her throat. The teenage witch panicked, her magic lost all direction and blasted outwards in a harmless wave with no intention. A moment later, Alice was unconscious. Gorlois wind blew out the last of the Tunninger fire. Hermione had won.

The audience applauded.

For a moment, she basked in her victory. Mordred looked exhausted by happy and Lady Grindelwald was clapping enthusiastically.

Then a cold voice called out across the arena. Dumortier stepped forwards.

‘I fulfil my obligations as second.’ He called in German. Hermione didn’t know the language well enough to pick accents, but he sounded like it certainly wasn’t his first language.

She turned, gathering every scrap of magic she could find inside herself.

‘Dumortier, you are bound by the obligations of the Treaty of Barre.’ Lady Grindelwald’s voice carried across the duelling ground.

‘The Treaty of Barre has already been broken; two of your own have attacked my encampment. Under the terms of the treaty, I may do as I please.’ The tall wizard sneered. A flash of green blasted from his wand, something seemed to soar over her head and Hermione hit the dirt. That was not a minor jinx. Something told Hermione that if that spell hit her, she would be worse than unconscious.

She rolled sideways just in time, another bolt of green hit the ground. Mordred cried out something and Hermione jerked her wand. A wall of stone ground up and she was left gasping at the sudden expenditure of magic. The wall shook; once, twice, three times under the impact of some curse.

‘Priestess, move!’ Mordred bellowed. Hermione scrambled sideways as the wall exploded into lethal stone shards.

A hand snatched the back of her robes, dragging her up to her feet and a wand dug into the soft skin of her throat. The wizard chuckled darkly, his chest rumbling against her back. His other hand wrapped around her wrists, holding her hands in front of her so that she couldn’t cast.

‘Today, Lady Grindelwald, will go down in history. You see this is the end, after today there will be no more ancient family legacy... your son is lost, your ward is about to die, and your castle... well, this duel was a rather wonderful distraction.’

As he spoke, the ground shook ominously. Something bright glowed in the sky, starting far above and spreading downwards in a golden ring. It widened, growing bigger and brighter, then the sound reached them. It started as a tinkling, like falling glass, then grew to a roar. Faces turned upwards, pale with fear as the ancient, powerful Grindelwald wards crumbled around them.

Lady Grindelwald screamed, a sound of loss and pain. Hermione drove her metal-heeled foot hard into the soft leather of Dumortier’s boot. Her elbow drove into his groin and he stumbled backwards. She leapt forwards, scrambling to grab her dropped wand from the floor.

A piercing, animalistic screech rent the air, and the ground shuddered. She spun to see a elephantine bird crush the wizard between gargantuan talons. A cry brought her eyes skyward, and there, perched atop the bird’s back, looking tanned and hungry but otherwise healthy was Gellert. She called out his name, and he called hers, but any other reunion was spoiled by the battlecry of the witches and wizards that had accompanied Dumortier.

They surged forwards, wands flashing as the civilian crowd that had watched the duel trampled one another in their desperate surge back through the gates. A witch on a thestral swept down and picked up Herr Lintzen as the others began raining attacks from above. Hermione dashed for the far end of the arena and scooped up Mordred’s sword. The undead wizard was a couple of feet away, lopping limbs off a witch even as her spells passed straight through his semi-transparent form. She spun, a spell glancing off the protective enchantments in her battle dress, then the bird swept overhead again. Gellert hung from underneath it, clinging on like a spider and casting spells left and right. She lashed out with the sword whilst the attacking wizard tried to untangle his jinxed legs and knocked him out with the flat of the blade. He crumpled into a mound of dark robes.

Everywhere she looked, people were fighting; civilians and coven members alike. Even in the thick of the mob that surged for the gates, people fought. Sparks and jets of light shot overhead and glanced off shields. People cried out in pain and fear, incantations and explosions making communication almost impossible.

‘High Priestess!’ Mordred bellowed, despite being right next to her ear. She nodded obviously to show that she was listening, but didn’t look at him. She blocked a curse from a ginger haired witch, then sent one in retaliation that was blocked with equal ease. Mordred cast something with a cry in his ancient language and the woman was thrown backwards by a scythe of darkness.

‘The prisoners.’ He cast a shield for her, deflecting a nasty looking purple spell that fizzled and hissed when it hit the ground. She thanked him but wasn’t sure if he heard as a thestral crashed next to them, ploughing up dirt and gravel. ‘Their camp must be almost empty.’ He grunted, sniping the wizard that had brought down the thestral.

Hermione nodded and waved frantically to Gellert and Berg on their bird. They spotted her, wheeled around and swept down. Talons closed around her waist and massive wings thudded either side. The sword dug into her stomach and made her great full she’d sheathed it before flagging down her brother and his unconventional mount.

‘Hermione!’ A familiar voice called and she crammed her neck to see Gellert perched above her, hanging onto a strap of fabric with only a hand and his feet. Her stomach dropped for him, even as he swung easily to shoot a spell back behind them.

‘We need to get to their camp!’ She called to him, the wind tearing words from her mouth as the bird banked sharply to avoid a spell. Gellert gave her a thumbs up and scrambled away like an ant up the straps. She swallowed, hoping desperately that the bird could carry her in it’s claws and she wouldn’t have to make that terrifying climb.

She didn’t.

The bird banked again, this time swooping down to the cluster of tents nestled just back from the fighting. They landed on one of the smaller tents, crushing it with a noise of tearing canvas and breaking wood. A moment later she was set down ever so gently, then Gellert dropped beside her almost soundlessly. His arms wrapped around her and he lifted her effortlessly, spinning her then putting her down for a deeper embrace. He had grown.

‘Hermione.’

‘Gellert. I’m so glad you’re okay.’

‘I’m glad you’re okay too. I felt that magic... what’s happened? The castle? The coven?’ He drew back, his eyes searching hers for answers. She faltered slightly because they really didn’t have time for the full story now.

‘Some of the coven are missing. We should see if we can find out what’s happened to them whilst they’re all away. I’ll speak to you more when this is over.’ She swung Mordred’s sword over her back, fastened the buckle and checked her wand. Then, without waiting for any more word from the boys, she headed for the largest tent.


	51. Rescue

The battle was a mess of people, bright flashing lights and glittering shields. The public surged for the gates, desperate for the protection of the solid walls even without the warding. The invaders closed up behind them and members of both covens took a stand. Star swept down again, talons raking at a red-haired woman and Gellert quickly targeted a wizard that had brought Herrto the ground. The older wizard looked up, saluting them briefly and they wheeled again, throwing up glittering black snow as they surged up and out of spell range.

‘Hermione’s there!’ Berg bellowed. His witch was indeed up and swinging a sword of all things with lethal grace. Star plunged towards them as a spell glanced off some ward about the young witch, and a moment later Gellert’s leglocker nailed him straight in the knees. Hermione lashed out with her sword and slammed it decisively across his head. The wizard crumpled, and Gellert whooped as he cast the same jinx at another attacking witch.

When they spun again at the far end of the field a tall, dark haired wizard stood back to back with Hermione, wielding his sword and magic in perfect synchrony with the young witch. A terrifying scythe of darkness sent two flying backwards, then followed up with a misty shield that fizzled silver as a purple curse hit it.

He glanced away as Star squawked in annoyance, and he realised he and Berg were both hanging off the same side, unbalancing the bird and making him labour to fly straight. He quickly swung to the other side and cast several more jinxes, then saw Hermione waving at them frantically. Berg must have spotted her too because a moment later they swooped down and Star picked her up gently in one massive claw.

He shimmied down the straps beneath Star’s belly until he hung upside down over Hermione. The young with had her eyes clamped shut tightly and her face was very pale. He wondered briefly if she was afraid of heights? She’d been uncomfortable on a broomstick but loved flying Katana.

Now that he had the chance, he looked her over critically. She had changed, perhaps not as physically as he had, but magically. He had always thought her magic to be hot and bright, adventurous and inquisitive. It was a perfect counter to his own which tended to be more reserved. Now, there was an ancient wildness to her power, whipped by gale winds into a blinding white inferno. Dismissing his misgivings, he called out to her over the rushing wind. This was a happy moment of reunion, not a time to mourn their new unfamiliarity.

She directed them to the camp, seeming more than a little relieved when her feet were once more on the ground. He dropped beside her and before he could stop himself he found he’d wrapped her small form in a tight embrace. She felt tiny in his arms as he lifted her and spun her, taking in the smell of home that clung to her robes in heady clouds and the familiar sound of her laugh.

Then reality set in and he set her down again. He may be home, but everything was still not well. His witch stood strong, her black battle robes painted with humming warding and she briefed them in a smart, matter-of-fact tone as she strapped the massive sword she carried over her back. It was that perhaps that spoke more to the times that had fallen upon them in the boy’s absence than her words of siege and prisoners.

The tents had mostly keeled over beneath the immense pressure of wind beneath Star’s wings and now scattered in a jumble of canvas, furniture and drunken poles.

It was quiet in the camp, feeling more than a little surreal after the chaos of the battle just beyond the trees. At first it seemed as though there were no guards at the camp at all, then someone stirred beneath the crumpled canvas of one of the tents caught in the downdraft of Star’s wings. Quicker than lighting, Hermione whipped around and a bolt of yellow light flew from two extended fingers. The movement grew still and the young witch stalked over leaving Gellert and Berg standing drolly in the middle of the open area between collapsed tents.

‘Did she just...?’ Berg trailed off, watching as Hermione started trying to heave apart the heavy canvas to get at her quarry.

‘Wandlessly.’ Gellert confirmed.

‘Merlin’s saggy stockings.’ Berg swore. Gellert was inclined to agree - the focused intent required to make an actual bolt of light with wandless magic... he could hardly imagine even his mother was capable of it.

‘Are you going to help of not?’ Hermione snapped, glaring up at them from beneath a mess of escaping hair. Chastened, both boys leapt forwards and between them they made quick work of the canvas; dragging it away to reveal a young witch.

‘Do either of you know a spell to hold her still?’ Hermione demanded. A casual wave of her hand had a crushed chair reassemble itself. Then Hermione dragged the unconscious witch up onto the chair. Gellert didn’t know a spell, but he did know how to conjure a rope and a moment later the witch was bound to the chair by a tangle of rope.

Hermione woke the witch with a press of her delicate fingers to the woman’s temple. The witch stirred, then her eyes opened wide when she realised her situation. She thrashed against the ropes and toppled the chair. Her fall was broken by a pile of canvas, so it couldn’t have hurt too much but Gellert imagined it still would have been unnerving.

‘What do you want?’ The woman finally bit out, eyes darting wildly between the three children. Her eyes zeroed on the wand in Gellert’s hand. ‘What are you going to do to me?’

‘I just want directions, that’s all.’ Hermione replied, gesturing for Gellert to lower his wand. He obliged, suspecting that Hermione was more than capable of casting a wandless shielding charm if necessary.

‘I won’t tell you anything. Don’t think I don’t know who you are! Tyrants, the lot of you.’ The older witch hissed. Perhaps she intended to spit, but it came out as more of a dribble with the woman bound and sideways on the floor.

‘Don’t worry, you don’t need to tell me.’ Hermione whispered quietly. There was a moment of intense silence, then the young witch added, ‘we’re only after the prisoners.’

‘Wonderful. Check the tent over there.’ Hermione announced abruptly, striding in the direction she’d indicated. Gellert and Berg hurried to catch up with her, sharing a concerned look.

‘Did you just perform legilimency?’ Berg demanded suddenly, grabbing onto Hermione’s sleeve and dragging her to a halt. The young witch stumbled against the sudden resistance, then turned to face them both with a smug grin.

‘No.’ Hermione replied. ‘Come on, have neither of you ever read a detective story? There must be a wizarding equivalent?’

Berg released her and the young witch stormed off and started heaving aside swathes of canvas. Gellert went to follow her but Berg held him back with a firm grip on his sleeve.

‘Gellert, can you sense the darkness in her?’ He whispered uncertainly. Gellert hesitated because he had indeed sensed a darkness in Hermione’s magic. It was so foreign and easily overshadowed by the brightness of her white fire magic that he had glossed over it in his first inspection, but now that Berg seemed to have noticed it too, it stood out blatantly.

‘You don’t think... no, mother never would have let her.’ He hesitated because the evidence stared him straight in the face.

‘Frau Fleiss is a dark witch, but she’s allowed to be a dark witch.’ Pointed out Berg hesitantly. ‘You don’t think that actually was legilimency though?’

‘I’ve never heard of a “detective”, maybe its some kind of tracking magic?’ Gellert suggested, trying to find any excuse to deny the negative light that now shone on his sister.

Hermione called to them in frustration and the two boys joined her quickly, before she could notice their suspicions. Together, they dragged the canvas doorway open, then crawled inside. What followed felt like hours of hot, sweaty work with a constant view of creamy canvas and rough carpet beneath his hands and knees. He could hear Berg cursing somewhere to his right and Hermione up ahead. Her loud sigh of relief suggested she’d reached somewhere somewhat self supporting. He surged forwards and found her in a hollow where a support pole had fallen over two tables. She was sweaty faced and her tight braid had fallen out so her hair fuzzed around her head like a dark halo and errant strands drifted skywards to plaster against the roof. His own light golden hair was going the same and he awkwardly tried to flatten it against his head. Berg burst into the space a moment later, crowding Hermione under a desk and forcing Gellert to press up against her.

‘Why on earth did neither of you think to just put the stupid tent back up again?’ The boy hissed. Hermione and Gellert just looked at him blankly. ‘Erecto.’ He jabbed his wand at the piece of wood over his head and with a whoof, the air around them cleared suddenly as the tent sprung back into place. They all breathed a sigh of relief, then crawled out to have a look at their surroundings.

Gellert had never actually used a tent before, so he had very little to compare it to. It seemed to be more of a storage space than anything, with sacks of flour and potatoes against one wall and two barrels next to them. The desk they were crouched under held a ledger, now mostly obscured by a smashed ink bottle. The other desk was currently empty with the books that had been on it scattered across the floor. Hermione was already striding off in the direction of a curtain at the far end of the room and the two boys hurried after her quickly.

Gellert skidded to a halt just past the curtain, almost bowling Hermione over where she’d frozen in the doorway. He peered over her shoulder and his eyes widened at the gruesome sight of the three figures hanging from posts driven into the ground. Two women and a man, unrecognisable because of the bruising of their faces and bloodied from head to foot. Two posts held chains that were ominously empty.

A moment later, Hermione was retching against the tent wall - she may be magically powerful, but she hadn’t been exposed to the harsh reality that Gellert and Berg had been over the past few months. He rubbed gentle circles on her back and held the young witch’s hair out of the way whilst Berg put his new healing skills to the test. At his urging, Hermione decided she’d be better off making sure nobody came back from the battle to surprise them and headed back outside. Gellert turned back to the three figures hanging from the posts, bracing himself.

‘How are they?’ He asked, coming up behind Berg. The other boy had lowered the first of the woman to the ground and was casting a rapid series of spells which made various parts of the witch’s body glow.

‘Not good. I think we need to just get them back to the real healers as quickly as we can.’ Berg replied. ‘Transfigure me some stretchers or something.’

Gellert obliged, quickly changing the empty posts to flat boards. He helped Berg move the witch onto it, conjured a blanket, then used a levitation charm to take the witch outside. As Berg did his best to stabilise the remaining two, Gellert helped Hermione climb up onto Star’s back which was a long process as he quickly discovered she really didn’t like heights (how had he not known that?)

Finally, Berg emerged with the last of the patients and a moment later Star looped his talons with remarkable delicacy through the complex and over engineered carrying harness that Hermione had made whilst she was waiting for them. He took off with a confident beat of his wings, lurching them upwards in a familiar movement. Berg’s head appeared over the bird’s wing joint a moment later and he gave them a thumbs up to let them know that the patients were all carried securely.

‘We should burn the camp.’ Hermione decided suddenly.

‘What?’ Gellert demanded.

‘We should burn the camp - get rid of their supplies.’ For a moment Gellert just goggled at her, then he shrugged slightly.

‘We can try, but I imagine they’d have fireproofed their tents.’

‘Then we’ll flood it. The more we can ruin, the harder it will be to recover.’

‘Flood it? Do you even know how much water we’d need to conjure for that?’ He laughed incredulously but stopped when he found himself slightly unnerved by Hermione’s serene smile. The young witch shut her eyes and stretched out her hands to either side of her. He had no idea what she was doing and just watched mystified until she blinked one eye open.

‘Join me?’ She asked, glancing at Berg as well. The two boys reached out and joined hands, sitting uncomfortably side by side across Star’s wing joints.

Hermione wielded Berg’s magic awkwardly, the warm solidness of his magic so different to her own but she managed to send it out alongside his and hers. She cast no spell, simply dispersing their magic across a massive area. He could feel everything around them - the magic which sustained Star, the three weakened wixen he carried below them, the wind as it swirled their magic in invisible eddies and currents. She used everything they were willing to expend leaving all three of them weakened, then drawing on... something else. The fourth magic joined theirs; the ancient magic that he had first felt during the ritual in all its glory.

Then, Hermione’s magic guided theirs to do something, something complex and foreign. It shaped it in a way he’d never seen before except in ancient sorcery. The temperature plummeted and the sky suddenly darkened. Berg’s eyes snapped open and he gawped in awe as grey clouds formed quickly. A cold, powerful wind blustered against them and sent Hermione’s hair whipping around their faces. The two boys didn’t mind, awestruck by the powerful enchantment Hermione had wrought with no words and no spells, not even a wand. Within seconds rain began to lash at them, but still the sky darkened. The rain grew thicker and heavier, obscuring the hills and eventually even the ground beneath them. Their flight grew rougher as Star began to battle against the elements and the wind that was now howling around them. Even as the boys hunched down into their cloaks to warm up, Hermione sat serene and exposed and directed their magic. Thunder growled and lighting split the dark sky, momentarily illuminating the silhouette of the castle below them. Star quickly descended as another flash of lighting smashed into the ground. It was only when Star landed with a thick squelch of mud that Hermione finally opened her eyes and looked up. Water ran down her pale face in rivulets and her hair hung in sodden rat’s tails down her back.

‘That was incredible.’ Berg muttered, also looking up at the sky. It seemed he’d momentarily forgotten the three casualties that now lay in the mud, so Gellert scrambled down himself and sprinted in the direction of the castle.

The castle was chaos - wet civilians still streamed through the open doors and into the massive entry hall. Two members of the Russian coven were directing them one way for those who were injured and another for those who were not. Occasionally a roar of activity would accompany a recovered casualty as they were carried into the hall. Another crack of thunder split the air and the windows flashed with lighting.

Gellert pushed through the queue to the coven members and informed them of the three recovered prisoners. A team of healers was dispatched to retrieve them whilst Gellert hurried after an elf, answering what was apparently orders that he report to the ward room as soon as he arrived.

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been down that particular corridor but this time it was almost unrecognisable. The stone statues had been blown to dust and shards and now coated every surface. The iron doors which were usually barred across the entrance were warped and twisted and hung sideways on their hinges and the ward stone itself had been reduced to a scatter of glittering shards. His mother knelt in the debris, three of the coven with her and the quartet chanted in a constant stream. When he stepped through the door, Herr Lintzen hobbled forwards from the wall and seamlessly changed with his mother, taking up her chant and spot in the ring. His mother wiped a dusty hand across her dirty skin and crossed the room in two steps. A moment later he was wrapped in her arms whilst she murmured again and again how happy she was to have him back.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to remember if he’d ever been held like this by her before, then she released him and took a step back to look him over - that he was more accustomed to. The tears that glistened in dark trails down her cheeks were definitely new though.

‘You look well. I was worried.’ She finally said, seeming to have regained control of herself.

‘I am now. I was gravely injured but have recovered.’

‘I will hear the full story tonight, for now it is good to know that you are alive and well.’

‘Duty first. What is happening?’ He agreed, glancing once more at the chanting mages as he was led away up the corridor a horn distance.

‘Dumortier had followers among those living under our protection. Whilst we were all distracted by the duel, they mounted an assault on the ward stone. We’re doing our best to maintain a basic ward over the castle now but it is a large footprint.’

‘Can we make it smaller? House everyone in the castle?’ Gellert asked and Lady Grindelwald grimaced.

‘We can, but it will be very tight. We’ll be short of food in days. They must have someone in the ministry too; the floo network has been shut down and with the portal destroyed, we’re trapped.’

‘What do you need me to do?’

‘We need everyone who studied warding at school, we’ll roster them in and see if we can train up everyone with ritual experience. The methods are similar, then perhaps we can see if the high priestess can assist.’

‘High Priestess?’ It was a title that sounded familiar and important but he couldn’t recall ever hearing it assigned to someone. His mother practically glowed with pride at his question.

‘Hermione, High Priestess of Gorlois.’ Almost every word glowed as she spoke and even though none of them meant anything to him, Gellert found himself smiling too. It definitely sounded impressive.

‘Why would she be able to help?’ He finally asked. Last he had heard, Hermione had been focusing every minute on training for duelling. He doubted she would have found any time to study warding beyond even what the coven knew.

‘I was hoping she might be able to see if her Sect knew anything. Have you met Mordred yet?’

Unexpectedly, jealousy heated his blood at the turn of the conversation. He didn’t know exactly what a Sect meant but he burned with jealousy at even this mention of another wizard being the first to create any sort of bond with her before him. He was family and he was meant to be her coven second. He remembered the tall, dark haired wizard he’d seen fighting with her before he’d picked her up. He’d been swinging a sword like the one she now carried. He’d been taller than Hermione, certainly an adult but not by much but possessed a wiry build.

‘I’m sure you will. He’s a strange young man; I have yet to establish if he’s shy, or just doesn’t consider anyone other than Hermione worth speaking to.’ Gellert disliked this other man more with every word that passed his mother’s lips. He bowed to her as he always did at the end of one of their meetings and excused himself with a promise to find witches and wizards to help maintain the warding.


	52. Rules

War was nothing like the stories, Hermione soon came to realise. It was long and boring, full of monotonous waiting as opposed to the skirmishes and constant assaults she had imagined. There was no repetitive booming of catapults against the castle walls, in fact, the attackers hadn’t really done much since that initial terrible battle.

The castle itself seemed to have shrunk and grew smaller with every day, despite every room in every wing being used for the first time in living memory. Beds had been conjured and crammed into every available room, sacks of food lined every corridor and livestock crammed the entrance hall and ballroom. Every courtyard had been tilled and planted and those who could had been rostered into shifts to cast growth charms.

Hermione was moved out of her rooms and into the master bedroom of Lady Grindelwald’s suite, along with the six remaining coven witches whilst the men took the boudoir with Gellert and Berg. It was good to not be with the other children because she didn’t really feel like one of them anymore. She could spend hours sitting and experimenting with her magic, where the others would be bored in minutes.

Of the three of them, Berg had change the most. Already change by his misadventure with Gellert, the news of his parent’s death at his sister’s hands had turned him into a ghost of his former self. The bright, bubbly boy now haunted the darker corners of the room, obsessively pouring over books of healing magic. Hermione, bound by guilt at having incited Alice in the first place, took it upon herself to care for him. She bought him sandwiches and made sure he ate them and she scoured the library for healing books for him to read.

Gellert was rarely in the rooms; he had thrown himself into the running of the castle. He strode around the castle, completing a list of tasks as long as his arm with the seriousness of a man three times his age. His frowning brows and tight shoulders bore the burden of responsibility bestowed too soon whilst his eyes were dark with echoes of remembered pain and fear.

Hermione tried to look after him too but there was a strange coldness in his gaze which she didn’t remember earning. She didn’t understand the way he glared at her as she worked her way through her morning hour of sword forms in the cleared living room, or why he no longer took dinner with her at the table.

So she took refuge in Berg and Mordred. The dark knight never showed himself in front of any of the coven, but whenever the rooms were empty he would appear and she would learn some new piece of fascinating ancient magic from him.

Berg loved letting her work with his magic. He was warm and earthy and his magic was firm and grounding, which had an interesting effect on her own spellwork. With Gellert’s magic they performed showy feats of incredible power, often violent and barely controlled as their magic ran rampant and worked their wills in its own way. Berg’s magic was slower and far more subtle; it made her magic more predictable and she although she had to work harder to get it to do her will, it was fascinating to have to coax magic into action rather than reining it in. Berg seemed to enjoy the sessions as much as she did, relaxing with his eyes closed as she worked their magic into various tasks.

It was during one of these sessions, as Hermione tried to turn a blue blanket to green (why was it so easy to make things blue, but so difficult to make any other colour?) that Berg addressed Gellert’s hesitations.

‘Hermione?’ He asked, shattering her concentration. The blanket, which had definitely been looking more teal than blue faded back to aqua. She would have hissed in frustration but Berg hadn’t spoken in days and she didn’t want to stop him now.

‘Yes?’ She finally said in a falsely bright tone.

‘I think you should introduce Gellert to the boy in your Sect.’ He looked at her with his dark eyes and she shrugged. ‘I think Gellert feels like he’s being replaced. You were his sister, and I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he was talking about the magic he’d taught you, but now you’re learning from someone else and you’ve made your first official bond with another boy...’ Berg trailed off.

‘He won’t even look at me though.’ Hermione whinged, feeling every bit her eleven years as she recognise her tone.

‘I’ll talk to him too then.’ Berg soothed, his earthy magic washing over her. ‘I’m your brother too now, and I won’t have my siblings at odds with each other.’

Berg tapped the cloak pin he wore which signified his new status as a ward of Grindelwald and Hermione smiled warmly. It had only taken a couple of angelic looks on her part to get Lady Grindelwald to take the other boy in. With his parent’s dead, Alice was his family head and the young witch suspected Alice wouldn’t be providing for her younger brother anymore. Lady Grindelwald had perhaps already had the thought on her mind, because the piece of jewellery had been presented the next morning.

‘Please do. I don’t like it when he’s angry with me.’ Hermione pulled her hands out of his larger, warm one. ‘I think you two are closer than we are now. So much had changed since Harvest.’

Berg was true to his word and a knock came at the door to the women’s rooms as she was working on a temporary new ward stone for the castle. Mordred’s head darted up and a moment later he faded from view as the door swung open. Gellert poked his head through, looking awkward and nervous as he spotted her seated on the floor between the closely packed beds. She patted the spot next to where Mordred had sat a moment ago and Gellert joined her in an awkward silence that stretched deafeningly.

‘How is the stone going?’ Gellert finally asked, breaking the tension. Hermione’s eyes flickered down to the stone, engraved with the beginnings of a new ward.

‘It’s complex, it keeps interacting with the muggle repelling charms over the range. We must be on our fifth attempt by now?’ She glanced at the empty space where Mordred had sat a moment ago, then down at the heavy sword. ‘Berg said you would like to meet him?’ She asked nervously. Gellert barked a loud, half laugh.

‘Berg is a meddler.’ He scoffed, then his posture relaxed a little, ‘but he is right. I would like to meet him.’

She glared at the sword sternly and a moment later Mordred was there, his larger frame mirroring Gellert exactly. Boy and spirit looked each other over coolly and she could feel Gellert probing with his magic in a way that seemed to have become almost habitual for the boy.

‘You’re a dark wizard.’ Gellert said sharply in accented English, Mordred winced. ‘I felt your magic during the battle and I thought it was Hermione’s.’

‘Our magic is remarkably similar.’ The knight finally said. Gellert could only nod in agreement. Hermione had not imagined their first meeting going like this. She’d imagined that Mordred would welcome Gellert to join them in some piece of wonderful ancient magic, or that Gellert would join Mordred on some quest to protect her. She hadn’t even considered this strange, passive hostility from both parties.

‘You’re using the sword as a conduit to appear from another location?’ Gellert guessed. His family ring glinted on his long fingers as he gestured towards the weapon in question.

‘No, I am but a memory. I died in 1290 Ad Urbe, which I believe is somewhere in the decade of 530 by your modern calendar.’

Gellert rocked back in shock, eyes darting between Mordred and Hermione.

‘I don’t understand.’ He said finally.

‘As I understand it, the members of my birth family bind themselves to this side of the veil before they die.’ Hermione interjected delicately. Gellert’s eyes darted between them, then to the surprise of both Gorlois’ children, he swiped his hand through Mordred’s ghostly cheek. Mordred yelped and threw himself backwards whilst Gellert snickered.

‘Can you feel that?’ The German demanded. Mordred held one hand to his cheek, looking offended.

‘No, but that’s still no reason to do it.’ He hissed. His magic, as unruly as Hermione’s, tried to lash out in his defence and the knight reined it in sharply. The two boys might not get along, but at least they knew better than to actually fight one another.

‘Well, it gets my point across. You have no right to be hiding Hermione away like this.’ Gellert grouched. Mordred scowled darkly.

‘She is the High Priestess of Gorlois.’

‘She’s my family too. She’s my sister.’ Gellert spat in reply.

‘Will both of you shut up!’ Hermione drowned out the agitated voiced of both boys. ‘You are both family, and I enjoy learning magic from both of you. I would rather learn from nobody than have you at each other’s throats, so either you get along or you both clear off.’ Both boys glared mutinously at each other then nodded grudgingly. Hermione huffed. ‘Now, Mordred and I were discussing morale.’

Gellert looked over Mordred appraisingly.

‘Have you been in many... battles in castles?’ He asked idly, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar English word.

‘Many.’ Mordred bared his teeth savagely, but it wasn’t confrontational so Hermione let it slide. Gellert seemed interested though, and Hermione wondered if there was a chance he really didn’t know the full story of King Arthur. Did Gellert not know just how much of a legend the young man opposite them was?

‘I thought we should look into alternative Yule celebrations. Obviously we didn’t manage to retrieve a Yule log, but according to Mordred they used to celebrate something called... what was it Mordred?’

‘Hogmanay.’ Mordred supplied, a light in his dark eyes.

‘And what does Hogmanay involve?’ Gellert asked.

‘We can manage some of the customs without leaving the castle, certainly. We need water crossed by both living and dead, which could be provided by the ghosts in the ancestor’s wing. We have to clean the castle with that, then run through every room with a burning juniper branch. We could do the dancing and singing and I’m sure we could spare an extra half ration of food to make a feast.’ Hermione glanced at a sheet of parchment several times, glaring at her own hasty scrawl in the dim light of the bedroom.

‘We could spare the food I guess and dancing would be fun.’ Gellert considered and Hermione grinned. ‘Now, what else have you been up too? There’s far too much writing there for just that?’

‘We’ve been thinking up various disruptions to inflict on our enemies.’ Mordred practically purred.

‘Nothing of particular value.’ Hermione added hastily. Mordred scowled at her and she scowled back with equal ferocity. The ancient knight may feel like his suggestions were justified and knowing Gellert, he would probably support him but she wanted nothing to do with conjuring demonic rats or cursing the water to shrivel their enemy’s tongues. She was fairly certain every one of Mordred’s suggestions could be classified as dark magic - which, she had come to realise was a very vague definition. Mordred seemed to consider very few spells as dark magic but he had mentioned several times that treason was the territory of dark wizards. Gellert seemed to define dark magic as any magic that harmed someone, basing it off intent whilst Berg seemed to consider certain spells in particular to be dark. It was all a little vague and wishy washy and she didn’t entirely know where to draw the line herself. For that matter, she realised, the standards in her time might be completely different to all three opinions.

So she changed the subject with less than inspiring subtlety. Mordred was not a warding expert and although he wouldn’t be called a runes expert, his native hand was Ogham which, according to Gellert was a magical language. The knight had found this hilarious, and informed the young heir that Ogham could be used for sorcery because he believed it could... Of course, that blew Gellert’s mind in the same way that Hermione’s unorthodox way of using magic had.

‘Mordred?’ Gellert finally asked, having been deep in thought for several minutes. ‘Are there any laws to magic?’

The room fell silent as Hermione stopped chiselling away at the replacement ward stone she’d been working on. Mordred paused in tracing a new line and both Gorlois children looked up at him.

‘Of course there are.’ The knight scoffed. ‘The ones you think there are.’


	53. Chapter 53

He really didn’t like Mordred; the knight was powerful and knowledgable but took great pleasure in jabbing at everything Gellert didn’t know. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the boundless concept of magic that both Hermione and Mordred seemed to work with ease. There was something unnerving about the way they could just... do things.

And, predictably, Mordred delighted in the fact that Gellert couldn’t believe it was possible enough to make it work. Doubting that it would happen was the biggest obstacle to making magic in the way they did.

However, he couldn’t deny that Hogmanay was an excellent idea. His feet tapped in time with the singing as he watched Hermione spinning through one of the jolly, bouncing dances. She looked a vision, dressed in her white and gold dress from harvest which had been changed up by a crimson ribbon. Her cheeks were flushed beneath the ancient circlet which flashed in the light of the balls of fire that hung above their heads. She crossed her arms with the two witches next to her and the whole group began to prance sideways in a massive circle, singing something about the wheels of life. Then Lady Grindelwald broke off as they started singing about snakes and the circle formed into a line which wound around to hunt out demons in the shadows.

His mother seemed to be enjoying the festivities as well, taking to her duty to splash ‘venom’ at anyone who wasn’t dancing very seriously. Once splashed with venom, those who had been called out joined the end of the line with good humour. Finally, the circle was formed again and they skipped sideways in a circle once more before everyone broke into cheers and applause.

Hermione skipped over to him, breathing heavily with exertion.

‘What do you think? Can Alice hear us?’ She demanded, flopping onto the bench next to him.

Gellert didn’t doubt it, because of course it wasn’t enough for Hermione and Mordred to have created a celebration here. The two Gorlois had decided to make the campers outside extra miserable but plunging the temperature low enough that a thrown bucket of water froze before it hit the ground. Without their special brand of atmospheric spells, it would be a miserable night for anyone not directly beneath the balls of conjured fire.

Alice and her rebellious friends would be sitting in their tents in the gardens, just beyond the line of Hermione’s temporary wardstone feeling miserable as the cacophony of singing and celebrating echoed through the sky.

‘I very much suspect she can.’ Gellert said dryly as someone launched into a rowdy round of ‘big blue rat.’ Within minutes, half the castle inhabitants were bellowing along and performing some free form rendition of one of the Hogmanay dances. Several people mimed donkey ears with their hands as the blue rat turned itself into a donkey, and he could have sworn the very ground shook as everyone stamped their feet when the rat became a warhorse.

‘This entire thing is ridiculous.’ Berg huffed past his wide grin as he dropped down on Gellert’s other side.

‘Its fun though.’ Hermione countered, leaning forwards to peer around Gellert.

‘Yes, but its still ridiculous. Did you see Frau Fleiss blowing fire during the dragon song?’

‘Or Herr Lintzen dancing? He’s lethal with that cane.’

‘It’s the magic.’ Hermione announced. ‘It makes everyone a little wild.’

And she was right. The air practically hummed with bright, jolly magic which fought off cold, darkness and misery. It was like a powerful cheering charm, without that even being the intent. The more boisterous and cheerful the gathered wixen became, the more powerful the enchantment grew. It worked in a glorious circle, breaking the self-imposed barriers of position and giving everyone a night of joy which lightened what was otherwise a miserable time.

Unfortunately, Gellert’s dignified retreat to the refreshment tables was spoiled when Anneken hauled all three of them up for the evening’s third repetition of the dance of the dead. He actually liked this one because it didn’t require singing. Instead, he could clap and stamp his feet to the thunderous tempo of the dance as Frau Hassel, who had a wonderful singing voice sung the ancient Norse words.

It was midway through this dance when he saw someone slip from the courtyard, firelight shining off gleaming gold. He frowned and glanced up at his mother. She was clapping along to Herr Lintzen as he bellowed the part Odin in the song and didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. He drew back into the shadows and began making his was around the courtyard.

He was just about to slip through the doors when he remembered the last time he’d decided to investigate something without telling an adult. He’d almost died and not really achieved much of note in the process.

He altered his course, slipping further around the hall. He tapped his mother’s arm and she glanced down at him, taking in his expression. A moment later she was following him into the shadows.

Together the two Grindelwalds left the courtyard. The temperature plummeted as soon as they passed through the doorway, their breath misting as they crunched along frozen carpets. It was easy to follow the depressed footsteps until they finally caught up with two shadowy figures in the window that looked out over the distant camp. They were muttering in low voices, one tall, the other short and very familiar. Where Hermione had stashed Mordred’s sword during the dancing, Gellert didn’t know.

He was about to step forwards and demand what they were doing when his mother’s arm flew out to stop him in his tracks. She held one finger to blue-tinged lips and together they snuck forwards until they were within hearing distance.

‘...better not hurt them.’ Hermione was grumbling as she jerked on the window.

‘It won’t, I’ve told you. It’s just a distraction.’ Mordred reassured her. He pulled a piece of chalk out of a bag and began to draw on the cobblestones.

‘A distraction that won’t hurt them?’ Challenge the young witch with the air of someone who had already made this point several times. Mordred grumbled and Hermione finally gave up on the window, demanding that they swap. They did, Hermione rubbing warmth into her fingers as she crouched down to take up the sketching whilst Mordred rested a hand against the window and pushed. The icy seal cracked with a snap and the window swung open, shunting a pile of snow off the sill.

‘Cheat.’ Hermione hissed without malice, then snickered as Mordred lobbed a hunk of snow at her.

Mordred picked something else out from the bag and began adding it to the drawings on the floor, then Hermione dropped the chalk back into the bag and pulled out five candles and set the down in a semicircle. They were setting up a ritual of some sort - a small one from the looks of it. His mother was tense as a rod next to him and he could feel her radiating ire and disapproval.

‘That should do it.’ Hermione finally announced, stepping back from her circle as Mordred did the same. Lady Grindelwald took that as her cue, stepping into the moonlit corridor and letting her voice ring our through the stone corridor as she demanded to know what was going on. Hermione leapt about three foot into the air, whilst Mordred disappeared suddenly. Hermione glanced around shiftily.

Now that he could see the circle, he realised it was rather simple. There was a triangle, upside down and inside a circle with a line chopping off the nose. There was a semicircle of candles and a sprinkling of salt around the circle. It was a summoning of some sort; well into the bounds of dark magic.

Mordred reappeared suddenly, looming over Hermione protectively. His dark eyes gleamed dangerously, and his dark-fire magic held itself ready to pounce.

‘We were going to reopen the floo network.’ Hermione finally said, straightening and throwing her chin into the air.

‘Reopen the floo network.’ Lady Grindelwald repeated in a deadly voice. Hermione, usually so good at playing the adults in her life, somehow misinterpreted the tone and grinned, babbling about how they were going to distract the enemy encampment with a false attack, then use the distraction to slip into the ministry. Lady Grindelwald’s expression remained a cold, blank mask.

‘What gave you the impression that you, a child, should be conducting such a dangerous mission.’ Lady Grindelwald hissed. Hermione paused, finally catching onto the tone.

‘Because I can.’ Hermione finally answered. ‘We cannot hold out here forever. If I can create an escape route, it is my duty to do so.’

‘That is not your responsibility. You are a child. Your duty is to grow, learn and live to take on the family honour upon your majority.’

‘Respectfully, Lady Grindelwald.’ Mordred interrupted, sounding anything but, ‘Hermione is the High Priestess of Gorlois. Her responsibility is to the people, regardless of the cost to herself.’

‘So this is your idea!’ Lady Grindelwald rounded on the dark knight, her magic crackling with fury. ‘She is a child, barely even eleven, yet your blasted family would keep her from her childhood with talk of duty and responsibility. She should be dancing with her agemates, not performing some dark ritual in a frozen corridor and planning to head to battle.’

‘Eleven is of age enough to be acclimatising to responsibility. She is powerful and intelligent, there is no reason to be holding her back for the sake of a childhood she is not interested in.’

‘Because you and yours have filled her head with duty. I will not have her wellbeing forsaken for the sake of the restoration of your family five years earlier. You have waited a century and a half, you can wait a little longer.’ Lady Grindelwald spat, her hand making a strange jerking motion as if to pull Hermione towards her.

‘Lady Grindelwald.’ Hermione suddenly interrupted, stepping forwards with a rustle of skirts. ‘This has nothing to do with my family. This is about the people, our people, gathered downstairs. We cannot survive here indefinitely and the longer we wait, the more people flock to join Alice and the harder it will be to escape and regroup. I can act, so I must.’

Gellert made a decision without even realising he had. He’d always bowed to his mother, done his best to please her, but he too was a powerful wizard. If Hermione could stand for her beliefs in front of his mother, he could too.

‘She’s right, Mother, in that we need to act. It is all of our responsibilities as those gifted with power to protect those with less, no matter our age.’ Gellert stepped up to stand next to his mother’s elbow, a reflection of Hermione and Mordred across the circle from them. Lady Grindelwald glanced down at him, then back at Hermione before sighing. Her tall form folded slightly.

‘You’re right, of course. Both of you are wise and strong, I was wrong to suggest you not do what is right. I almost lost you, Gellert, and I am terrified that next time you might not return at all but I should not let my fears hold you back. I only ask that next time, you not take matters into your own hands. For now, and hopefully many years yet, your responsibility is shared with me as your warden.’

Hermione promised solemnly to do so.

‘Mordred, Witch King of Gorlois, I humbly apologise. I should not have accused you of neglect when you were merely fulfilling your duty as a guide.’ Gellert’s mother curtsied deeply to the knight as Gellert mouthed the title she’d used to Hermione in confusion. Hermione shrugged, equally as clueless as he was and the adults completed their stilted, formal apology. Then, at the matriarch’s prompting, Hermione launched into a slower and more detailed explanation of their plan. It was complex yet beautifully simple in a way that only someone with her magical talent and Mordred’s bizarre esoteric knowledge could hope to pull off.

Lady Grindelwald had only one improvement; she sent Gellert to go and fetch Frau Fleiss and Hassel.

He obeyed, and when he returned with the two women they all took seats around the circle, linking hands.

He’d done conjoined magic with Hermione before, and he’d used joined magic in rituals but he’d never done something like this. It was a kaleidoscopic blend of all six magics - Hermione’s white fire, Mordred’s dark counterpart, both wild and uncontrollable. His mother brought her sharp icyness and he brought his dark, cool magic which tempered the burning heat of the Gorlois. Frau Fleiss had magic like cold steel and she brought enviable control, forcing the four unruly magics into the strict lines of the ritual whilst the warm earthiness of Frau Hassel grounded all their magics, somehow binding the five diametrically opposite magics into a cohesive whole that they could weave through the enchantment in powerful, gleaming strands. Then, Hermione reached for the conflagration of magic that was being generated by the dancing public in the distant courtyard, firmly linking that to power the enchantment.

Mordred spoke a long string of harsh, guttural words and the magic billowed out, spiralling outwards to form a dark void. Four massive, pitch black hounds clambered out of the void. Jaws filled with gleaming teeth dripped with viscous drool and fierce eyes gleamed with savage crimson light.

Only Hermione would have even considered summoning a pack of Grims to distract their enemies! If it was bad luck to see a Grim, it was even worse luck to attack one and Hermione’s summoned beasts looked like they were begging to be allowed to go and destroy some tents.

Mordred and Hermione stepped sideways so the path to the window was clear, then all six wixen shared a nod of preparedness. Frau Fleiss used a whispered spell to blow the salt away and the four hounds surged through the window in effortless leaps. Baying and howling, the omens disappeared into the freezing darkness and only moments later the first petrified scream drifted through the night air.

Then, Lady Grindelwald picked up the broomsticks that were waiting by the window, passing one to each of the adults. Hermione strapped Mordred’s sword between her shoulders and swung astride behind Gellert. Silently, under powerful disillusionment charms they streaked out into the freezing night air.

They landed just outside the old wards, nestled into the darkness behind the towering walls which were already beginning to crumble without the impregnated magic to support them. Gellert took the hand of his mother whilst Frau Hassel took Hermione’s. There was a sharp crack and Gellert popped out of the crushing embrace of another plane into the town square he’d stood in only moment ago, hanging tightly onto his mother’s arm until the nausea subsided.

‘Such an inelegant way to travel.’ Frau Fleiss muttered, leaning against a stone column for support as she regained her breath.

‘Inefficient too.’ Lady Grindelwald agreed with a nod.

‘Always takes my magic hours to settle properly afterwards as well.’ Frau Hassel huffed, pulling a vial of dark potion from somewhere on her robes and taking a healthy swig, then holding the potion up to the moonlight. ‘I wouldn’t be able to perform a single wandless charm afterwards if it wasn’t for this.’

‘Yes, it stirs me up as well but that can only be expected when you magically disassemble and reassemble yourself.’ The three adult witches took turns to take a sip of potion, then Hermione and Gellert had a little too. Instantly, his magic which had been thrown into a confused mess of icy shards by the apparition smoothed over and became manageable again. He sighed in relief.

They all readied themselves, drawing their wands. Hermione cast a couple of practice flames in her off-hand to make sure she’d managed to regain control of her apparition-dulled flames. After two or three she shrugged and nodded that she too was ready. Gellert shuffled next to her, taking her hand in his.

‘Together?’ He asked uncertainly and was rewarded by a beaming smile.

‘Always.’ Hermione replied, switching the hand she held her wand in so that they could hold hands more easily. Their magic melded familiarly as they followed the adults through the open portal.


	54. Floo

The opening sortie of the night was already over by the time the two children arrived. Frau Fleiss was magically binding and gagging the two stunned security staff who’d been on duty. Hermione had assumed that there would be people here, but she hadn’t expected them to be normal. She’d expected Alice’s minions.

‘Those that didn’t come to that castle must have been approached by Dumortier. I imagine they would have been only to happy to fall in with him.’ Frau Hassel said bitterly. ‘Centuries of protection against Dark Wizards and muggles alike and they turn on us in a heartbeat.’

‘They do not understand how much we do for them.’ Frau Fleiss agreed, poking at the guard with her heeled boot.

‘Yes, they will rebel against us, then coming running for shelter when the next threat presents itself. Dumortier only gave up in France when Frederich turned. His followers surrendered that night and begged the Delacours for shelter.’ Lady Grindelwald said with equal bitterness. Hermione pursed her lips and surveyed the atrium.

It was a dark room, black polished floor and low, dark ceiling hung with brass oil lamps. Fireplaces framed by deep burgundy stone pillars lined the long walls, each fireplace had next to it what Hermione could only describe as a steampunk vending machine. There was a coin slot; large and thick to fit one of the wizarding coins, then a hole lower down where a delicate claw hung open. A bin next to the machine held a collection of little bags, glittering with the residue to floo powder.

Mordred appeared behind her, sword already drawn and the group of six made their way down the long atrium and into what she assumed was the main room. Gellert stunned another security guard in this room, then Frau Fleiss bound him as the rest of the group hurried between tall, imposing pillars. The room ended abruptly, widening to a spacious plaza ringed by dark doorways.

The group stopped abruptly. To Hermione nothing seemed wrong. There was a stone fountain in the middle of the plaza, a massive eagle-bird with water sheeting from extended wings. Hanging from the wall behind it was a massive white banner with spread black eagle, with an evilly hooked crimson beak and claws.

‘That fountain used to be part of the beacon system.’ Gellert muttered for the benefit of Hermione and Mordred.

‘Oh.’ Hermione mumbled. The removal of the beacon system was a visceral rejection of everything the Grindelwald family did for the general public because nothing else could symbolise the family’s offer of protection better than the method used to extend that offer.

The older witched visibly drew themselves back together and the group hurried onwards to their destination. They took the third black archway and Hermione experienced an odd feeling of disembodiment before she suddenly found herself standing in a brightly lit office, manned by a small collection of wizards and two khaki robed guards. For a moment there was stunned silence as the two groups stared at each other, then chaos erupted.

The two khaki clad aurors shot spells as they dove for cover and the collection of office workers dropped below their desks a fraction of a second slower. Gellert lashed out with an impedimenta jinx as Hermione raised both hand and wand, erecting a shimmering white-silver domed shield around their entire group.

The two spells collided with it in a shower of sparks, then Hermione let the shield drop, rolling sideways in a twirl of gold and white party skirts as Mordred swept a hand out. A pulse of air sent desks flying backwards in a snowstorm of parchment. Gellert joined her behind a partition which exploded into splinters three foot to his left a moment later. Hermione shrieked in surprise, and dragged him behind the more solid filing cabinet with her. Across the room, Arika Fleiss screamed some spell which screeched across the room with a sound like a firework and exploded against the wall, filling the air with thick smoke. Hermione jumped up and cast a spell of her own; a neat little tripping jinx that landed perfectly on the official trying to escape through a distant doorway. She dropped back down just as Gellert poked sideways with his own spell.

‘I love magic.’ Hermione breathed as adrenaline pumped through her.

‘You’re secretly a very violent witch.’ Gellert snorted.

‘Secretly?’ Mordred questioned from Hermione’s other side. Silence had fallen now, aside from the panicked quacking of someone who’d been turned into a large goose. As the dust settled, the coven made quick work of binding their opponents and confiscating their wands.

It had really been rather successful, they had no injuries among them and no casualties or escapees among the office workers - aside from the goose, whom Frau Hassel assured would be returned to his natural state if he did exactly as they asked. If not... well, Hermione was certain the victim would be able to fill in the ominous pause the usually homely witch left after that statement.

‘The other will be back soon! You’ll never get away with this.’ Spat a witch in creamy robes.

‘The others?’ Hermione asked with false confusion.

‘Yes. They’ve only been called away for a moment.’ The witch replied, straining to break free of her bonds.

‘Chasing down death omens; I doubt they’ll be back for an hour or two at least. That’s more than enough time for us.’ Lady Grindelwald smiled as Frau Hassel reverted the goose back to human form. Still trembling, the mousy wizard obeyed the coven witch and began tapping his wand against a large map on the wall. Where his wand touched, little red lights began to glow and delicate writing scrolled beneath with the address. Then, he began tapping other red dots which disappeared with a blink.

‘Excellent. That will do, I think.’ Frau Hassel finally announced.

Hermione quickly stepped forwards, brushing past the mousy wizard and raising her hand to brush against the old map.

‘Do you think you can do it?’ Mordred asked in her ear. She shrugged.

‘Guide me?’ She asked and Mordred nodded, dropping his hand onto her shoulder. His magic flowed through her along the Sect bond, through her hand and into the wall. He neatly severed the enchantment that held the map onto the wall and the huge sheet of parchment rustled to the floor. Quickly, Lady Grindelwald and Frau Fleiss gathered the sheet up, folding it into a large bundle.

They were about to leave, when suddenly the mousy wizard scrambled forwards, clutching at Lady Grindelwald’s dress. The high witch stopped abruptly and turned to stare at his prostrated form.

‘Please, Lady Grindelwald, gracious Lady. Take me with you. Dumortier’s lieutenants will kill me.’

Lady Grindelwald’s nose wrinkled with contempt and she flicked her skirts from his grip.

‘Interesting how you only wish to support me when your life is threatened.’ The matriarch stated coldly. ‘How am I to know you won’t change allegiances as soon as I have you within my wards?’

The man hesitated, then to Hermione’s disgust he broke in hysterical sniffling tears.

‘I swear I won’t. I’ve got a daughter.’ The man snorted and wiped the snot from his nose.

‘Yes, you have. I know you.’ Hermione realised suddenly. ‘But your daughter is already in the castle, and last time you forgot about her after she survived an attack by Livius Lucan.’

Now she had remembered the somewhat familiar face, she couldn’t miss the connection between this man and Atalanta now that she looked. They had the same dark eyes, although Atalanta now wore her hair in luxurious russet waves now, before her accident she’d had the same brown hair. Atalanta, now aged 8, had more bravery and dignity in a single scarred hand than her father was displaying now.

‘His daughter,’ Hermione elaborated for those who weren’t as familiar with Atalanta as she was, ‘is now an apprentice seamstress. She is hard working, talented and very brave and works every day to pay for food and shelter for herself because this man spends all his earnings on dreamless sleep and firewhiskey.’

‘I think,’ Frau Hassel decided, her expression rather dark, ‘that we will leave you to suffer the consequences of your own decisions. Your daughter will be well cared for.’

A flick of the matronly witch’s wand had Atalanta’s father bound on the floor and the party swept out of the transportation office, floo network safely tucked beneath Frau Fleiss’ elbow.

A cacophony of bells started ringing as they slipped between darkened columns and into the atrium. The painfully discordant bells masked their loud footsteps as they broke into a run. Spells shot between columns as they wove between them. Frau Hassel blasted the eagle statue to smithereens, shards of stone knifing across the plaza and eliciting cried of pain and surprise from the aurors who were streaming through the doors behind them. The floos remained dark, shut down only minutes earlier and the party dashed down corridor using the fireplaces and powder dispensers for cover as the marble-coated aurors lit the corridor in a deadly display of light. Hermione threw out her hand, magic surging out with the simple command to protect and formed a silvery barrier across the hallway, shorting out the delicate magic which worked the oil lamp and showering them with sparks and splatters of gelatinous red potion.

They waited, chests heaving as Frau Hassel opened the portal, urging her on by bouncing on their heels and shifting their casting stances. Aurors moved like ghosts behind Hermione’s shield and she poured power into maintaining it, but fortunately they didn’t make any attempt to pull it down, perhaps puzzled by the unusual form.

‘Go, go!’ Frau Hassel shouted, her words whipped away by the wind of the portal. Lady Grindelwald went next, then Gellert followed reluctantly. Last went Hermione, holding tightly onto Frau Fleiss’ cool hand as she maintained the barrier until the last minute.

The minute the blistering wind died, Frau Fleiss apparated away with a crack of displaced air. Any breath that survived the portal was squeezed from her lungs by the second mode of transport, then before she’d even regained her balance she was being bodily deposited onto a broomstick and her stomach dropped out from beneath her as Gellert shot into the air like a cannonball.

She emptied every bit of dinner into frigid air with gut wrenching heaves that sent to broomstick squirrelling sideways and had Gellert struggling to stay aloft and straight. When her feet finally hit the solid ground of the castle she sagged into a relieved heap, pressing her cheek into the icy stone.

‘That was awful.’ She groaned.

‘Well, the last bit was but the rest of it was brilliant.’ Gellert replied sounding far too spirited for anyone who’d just portalled, apparated and flown on a broomstick through an enchanted Siberian winter in a space of less than five minutes had any right to be.

‘Yes, brilliant. I would say we’ve made a rather brilliant acquisition. Now, how about we get rid of those summoned Grims and then we can really finish Hogmanay with a bang by evacuating some people to Fort Stark.’ Frau Fleiss held the folded parchment bundle that controlled the floo network beneath one arm and she hefted it to demonstrate her point.


	55. Stark

Gellert was one of the advance guard sent through to the Lintzen’s castle. The sturdy, squat building had been left with the wards locked down but in such uncertain times that was no guarantee that nobody had managed to get inside, especially because the Lintzen’s portal was within their warded boundary.

Fort Stark, unlike his own Blau Berg, was originally a muggle building so it had a much more solid construction without any of the soaring slender towers, intricate windows and awe inspiring halls that were simply impossibly without copious amounts of magic. It was warmer and friendlier, feeling far less formal. He had many fond memories of swimming in the moat and racing through the extensive grounds during the Solstice celebrations.

It was odd to see the place so dark and quiet with the heavy wooden drawbridge drawn up against the gate. The party cautiously shuffled the hundred meters or so between the boathouse floo and the moat with wands drawn and levelled, ready to respond to an ambush but all remained silent as they reached the moat. Herr Lintzen limped forwards and pressed his seal into the stone sill and they all tensed as the drawbridge lowered, gears grinding and chains clattering.

It landed with a thud against the stone sill, dust puffing up around it. There was a moment of silence, then with a screech the heavy portcullis began to scrape up it’s tracks. The party stepped cautiously onto the drawbridge, feet thudding against thick wooden planks. They paused a meter or so away from the doors, looking cautiously at the savagely gleaming points of the portcullis which still protruded from the ceiling. Herr Lintzen pushed hard against the doors; a ward shimmered, flexed, then disappeared. The doors swung open with a creak of rarely used hinges.

The corridor beyond was a tunnel of darkness, opening into the central courtyard in a blaze of light. From there they split into pairs - Herr Lintzen and Frau Fleiss took the banquet hall and library, Herr Hawdon and two aurors from old families took the dungeons and the rest of them split the upper floors between them.

It was surreal to find himself prowling down darkened corridors, musty smelling and hung with cobwebs in a castle that was usually so vibrantly alive. Even the bright paintings and tapestries seemed sluggish and dreary. He had been planning to ask if the portraits had seen anything but as they passed yet another snoozing warlock, he realised the chances were they wouldn’t have noticed anything.

A silvery lion informed them in Herr Lintzen’s voice that his area was clear. A moment later, Herr Hawdon’s fox followed with much the same message. Gellert checked the last two rooms, then watched Herr Freidl send his bear to the others with a similar message. They gathered back up in the courtyard until Anneken and her betrothed returned from the third floor.

‘All clear.’ Anneken said quietly, her voice echoing against the stones and down the deep well, returning in a spooky and distorted whisper.

‘Thank Merlin. If I had to spend another day crammed into a room with ten other women, I think I’d start my own revolution.’ Anneken huffed, stretching her arms to demonstrate the sudden generous space.

‘It won’t be much better.’ Herr Lintzen cautioned. ‘We only have half the rooms that Blau Berg has, so we’ll still be living in dorms of six and we’re going to have to dedicate the grounds to livestock and crops.’

Anneken rolled her eyes because she had a far better knowledge of the rooms than most people, what with having assigned them herself.

‘Aha, but six is better than ten, especially when Sophia isn’t part of the six. She snores loudly enough to wake the dead.’ Anneken pointed out.

‘Cast a silencing charm.’ Frau Fleiss snapped sternly and Anneken glared at her.

‘That’s dangerous. What if something happened in the night?’

The discussion continued in the background as Gellert peered down the well; it was dark and damp. Ferns grew on the moist, mossy walls and dripped into the gleaming black pool far below. His fingers curled around the bronze disk in his pocket and he shared a quick glance with Herr Lintzen. The large man cleared his throat and the two witches fell silent.

‘Gellert, Anneken and I will go down to check the ward room now. Someone else needs to have a look at the stables and it wouldn’t hurt to get down to the barns and see whether they’ve touched the supplies.’ There was a general murmur of assent and the group split up again, leaving through the drawbridge. Gellert peered down the well again.

‘Right at the bottom, okay?’ Anneken repeated and Gellert nodded, taking several deep breaths to ready himself.

‘Right at the bottom.’ He confirmed. He shrugged off his robes so that he wore only his shirt and trousers, averting his eyes as Anneken confidently stripped down to her underdress. A massive splash broke the silence as Herr Lintzen plunged into the well. He opened his eyes in time to see Anneken slice through the surface in a graceful dive. He took a deep breath, then slipped off the wall as well.

The water was cold enough to steal the breath from his lungs but he stubbornly struck out downwards anyway. The trick was to go past halfway, the point where anyone who didn’t know it was down there would turn back. His lungs burned and his eyes ached, feeling like his eyeballs were shrivelling up in their sockets. Then, just when he thought his head might split, his fingers brushed air. A moment later the world spun on its axis and he was upright, his feet planted on the gelatinous black water surface and the stone base of the well above his head. Anneken and Herr Lintzen were already there, wet clothes clinging to their skin. Gellert averted his eyes quickly, then couldn’t help but glance up as Herr Lintzen growled in outrage.

‘What in the name of the ancestors is that?’ The burly man seized his daughters arm and spun her roughly. Gellert was allowed a clear view of the dark, stylistically drawn lion which showed clearly though Anneken’s soaked white underdress.

‘A tattoo.’ Anneken replied, entirely blasé despite her obviously painful position. Gellert looked away agin quickly, wondering whether Anneken was mad or very brave.

‘A tattoo.’ Herr Lintzen echoed dangerously.

‘Yes, it’s excellent isn’t it. It even moves.’ He heard the floor squelch as Anneken moved, perhaps demonstrating.

‘When this is over, you will dedicate every minute of every day to finding a way to remove this. Consider your allowance suspended.’ Herr Lintzen gritted. Anneken muttered mutinously that her revolution was starting to sound very tempting but her father released her and the witch straightened quickly. A moment later, a darling charm washed over him and Gellert allowed himself to look up.

The room was perhaps the weirdest he’d ever been in. The floor was clear water but with some kind of charm that meant they could walk across the spongy surface. Through that, he could see the distant surface which rippled with a strange green light. The focus of the room was a metal ball, perhaps bronze, green with age and perched on a clawed stand. Like every other wardstone, it was etched with a complex array of lines and figures.

He pulled the bronze disk out of his pocket and handed it over to the patriarch. The greenish light sparked off the densely etched Ogham script which covered the bottom side. The highly polished, slightly dished surface reflected light and sent a bright circle dancing around the room. Herr Lintzen stuck the disk to the stone wall so that the light was focused on the metal wardstone.

‘You’ll have to do the incantation. I just cant get my tongue around that funny language of hers.’ Herr Lintzen admitted gruffly, stepping away from the device. Gellert took his place, drawing his wand and imitating the rough Pictish tones as closely as he could. His wand tip glowed with a golden light and he tapped the disk firmly. The circle of reflected light shimmered and stretched, flowing like liquid until it encompassed the entire object. Anneken tucked a drape of moss over the disk and to anyone who didn’t know it was there, it would have looked like the stone just glowed faintly of its own volition.

‘Do we test it?’ Herr Lintzen asked, bending down to inspect the stone.

‘No. Hermione said that it only had a certain charge. The less it’s used, the longer it will last if we need it.’ Anneken replied. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

The tall witch then executed a neat handstand, Gellert shutting his eyes just in time to miss her skirts pooling around her head and baring her undergarments for all to see. Herr Lintzen was considerably less elegant, walking himself up against the wall. Then he flexed his legs as if he was jumping and surged downwards, through the floor. Dubiously, Gellert did the same.

The moment his feet left the floor, the world spun again, water crashing around his ears. He felt the floor beneath his feet and he pushed hard, shooting upwards like a cork and breaking the surface with a splash. Herr Lintzen hung onto the wall already, whilst Anneken was once again baring inappropriate clothing as she scaled the rough, slippery bricks. Herr Lintzen grunted at him to fetch a rope when he reached the surface and Gellert nodded, following Anneken up the well.

A combination of living rough and more practical clothing had him reaching the top first and he reached for the bucket, unhooked it and sent the rope down into the darkness. As Anneken slithered over the top of the wall, Gellert tapped he pulley with his wand. With an ominous crack of rope under load, the mechanism began to turn and Herr Lintzen was hauled up, dripping, from the water.

They were completely redressed by the time the others returned, looking for all the world like they’d just been to some obscure room in the dungeons rather than going for a swim and a climb. There was a round of confirmations that everything was alright, then Gellert (purportedly as the youngest and fittest) was sent sprinting down to the floo in the boathouse to let those at Blau Berg know it was safe to come through.


	56. Awe

Things went quiet for a while; suspiciously quiet. It left everyone anxious and jumpy despite their quality of life being vastly improved. The weather warmed and the snow finally melted, replaced by a frosting of greenery and the bright pinpricks of flowers. The view from the rooms that had once belonged to Lady Grindelwald was nowhere near as spectacular as that from the tower Hermione had lived in before the siege. Now, she overlooked the bedraggled gardens and crumbling stone walls of the Summer Courtyard, which was where Alice and her troops waited just beyond the temporary wards.

As Hermione watched, a figure with familiar brown hair wandered out into the sunlit patch between tents, stretching her white-clad arms and turning her face up to the sun. Hermione wished she could punch the other girl right in the nose.

‘There you go, Missy Hermione.’ Flighty stepped back beaming at her and Hermione turned to face the mirror. Silver was definitely not her colour, but the seamstress Klemme and her apprentice Atalanta had done a masterful job of recycling one of Lady Grindelwald’s gowns into a smaller one of Hermione to wear to this ritual. The crown of flowers around her head was far less cultivated this year - daffodils, primroses and little pinpricks of white blackthorn flowers with none of the large, voluminous blooms that had grown in the Grindelwald’s gardens. The most important flower was still missing though, and she blew into cupped hands. A crimson flower unfurled in her hands, petals like ruffled flames and not a hint of blue in sight.

She left the room to find Gellert waiting for her just outside his door. He too held a flower and they shyly exchanged them, then joined Berg outside. He was wearing a flower as well, and Neele hovered just behind him with a flower tucked into her hair as well. The two witches waved at each other and Hermione gave Berg a brief, sisterly hug before the group made their way downstairs.

There was a general movement of witches and wizards in that direction, dressed in a vibrant palette of spring colours. They joined the queue at the floo, chatting idly about how the day would go and, to the amusement of the two girls, the boys bemoaned the mountain of schoolwork that had arrived via owl several days ago.

They stepped through to find the boat shed had been bedecked in garlands of flowers (why it was called that, Hermione didn’t know. The only water she could see was the moat which was several hundred meters away). They joined the rest of the wixen trailing towards the drawbridge. Like Hogmanay, there was a strange magic already buzzing in the air. She skipped down the path, Gellert dragging behind her in a half jog, laughing all the way. Adults nodded to them respectfully as they passed and Hermione waved in reply.

The altar here was far more spectacular than the one they’d used last year; the people had taken to decorating with a fervour to stave off the boredom. Lady Grindelwald assigned them each a group as they came in, Hermione grinned at her matriarch before dropping Gellert’s hand and flouncing up to the massive cauldron on the altar. She waved to the girls lined up behind, each clutching an ingredient in their hands, then took her place.

Looking out at the assembled crowd, she couldn’t help but notice how many people weren’t here. Last year, with almost every German witch and wizard present, there had been over a thousand gathered at this festival. Now, they had lost a number to Alice and her revolution and the students had all remained at Durmstrang for the holidays and there were barely even seven hundred. It was several hundred less than she’d performed in front of for Samhain, and this was a far easier ritual. The family magic had woken briefly, stretching out to find out what was happening, then rapidly gone dormant again, apparently uninterested.

It was as easy as she’d been told it would be, but she took no less care with the brewing for that fact. As she called each ingredient and it was imbued with the magic of those assembled, she concentrated on stirring exactly in a clockwise spiral, then changed to anti-clockwise after adding the bleeding heart. Exactly as it was meant to, pearlescent smoke began to pour out of the cauldron and she carefully pulled a flower from her matriarch’s crown. Then she rounded the circle, collecting armfuls of leaves and flowers from everyone present and dropping them into the potion as well. Several times she met Gellert’s eyes and she winked each time, a silly grin crossing her face. He looked giddy with happiness as well, perhaps because Mordred wasn’t here today.

She added the last armful of greenery and the potion swallowed it with a belch of more pink steam. She spluttered and coughed, trying to clear her lungs of the thick, heady scent of cinnamon. When she looked up again, Gellert was laughing, surrounded by clouds of pink mist. He held our a hand to her and she grasped it, noticing the crimson flower-butterflies fluttering away together out of the corner of her eye.

‘Taste good?’ Gellert asked, grinning.

‘Fantastic.’ She replied sarcastically. He patted her on the back then took her hand again, leading her through the mist to a wooden bench. She smiled, recognising it as the one from the little holiday cottage they always rented in Yorkshire; Gellert must have remembered it from last year. She sat, smoothing her skirts as she did and marvelling briefly at how accustomed she was to the long-skirted 19th century dresses by now. She glanced over at Gellert and the stray thought crossed her mind that if she were to marry in the future, he really would be a perfect candidate. He was intelligent and powerful, with magic that made her own sing in the most incredible way. They worked well as a team and both were ambitious. Gellert would never hold her back, would always treat her like a queen and, she was sure he’d grow up to be very good looking. Jessica would be jealous, she thought wryly.

‘Is everything okay?’ She asked suddenly. Gellert was unusually quiet, and he sagged back against the bench with uncharacteristically poor posture. He straightened suddenly as if he hadn’t realised how much he was slouching.

‘Yes, fine.’ He said quickly, ‘just tired, that’s all.’

‘What’s wrong? Are you not sleeping well?’ She asked. When she looked more closely, he really didn’t look okay. His skin was paler than it’d been since his desert sojourn and he had dark circles etched under his eyes.

‘No, I’m fine.’ He insisted, setting his jaw in a way Hermione knew meant he was lying.

‘Come on, Gellert. I’m your sister. You can tell me anything.’ She coaxed, ‘look, I’ll even tell you a something about me... I’m not wearing drawers.’ She whispered it to him and he recoiled with an inarticulate cry. Hermione collapsed into giggles.

‘You’re not... you’re not serious are you?’ Gellert asked faintly, looking terrified.

‘Yes, I am. I had Flighty make me different undergarments instead.’ Hermione said with a smile. Gellert looked uncertain and Hermione looked at him pointedly.

‘It’s silly really, I’ve been having these dreams.’ He finally admitted. If he’d used any other tone she would have laughed, but Gellert looked genuinely concerned by these dreams.

‘What about?’ She asked quietly and the young wizard sighed heavily.

‘Its odd, I’ve never had such a realistic dream before. The castle is burning and I’m running through the corridors; fighting. Berg is with me but he’s injured and he’s carrying you; you’re exhausted...’ He trailed off, staring out at the rolling green hills.

‘It’s not just something you’re afraid of? We are at war.’ Hermione pointed out, trying to be reasonable. She didn’t sleep anymore, now that she was always popping between her modern life and the past but her body didn’t seem to need it anymore, perhaps a part of whatever enchantment brought her here. Gellert was already shaking his head, terror darkening his eyes.

‘I thought so too, but... the dress you’re wearing today, its the same as in my dream.’

Hermione was struck silent, unable to come up with anything else to say. She couldn’t say that he was just dreaming because this dress had only been finished that morning, none of them had seen it before the moment Atalanta had delivered it to their rooms that morning. A part f her rebelled against the idea that Gellert could dream the future, but she herself was a visitor from the future. If she could physically travel a century back in time, what was to stop Gellert seeing the future?

Her second thought was they needed to avert whatever tragedy was sure to befall them, probably tonight or perhaps early tomorrow morning. Then Lady Grindelwald’s words came to mind - what will happen, has happened, therefore it must happen. Perhaps by trying to avoid the scene, they would make it happen.

She relayed this to him and Gellert looked troubled, his brows were pulled down tight over his eyes.

‘So you think we should do nothing?’ Gellert checked finally. Hermione paused.

‘No, I think we should get ready. We know there’s going to be a battle tonight, we can’t avert it but we can certainly make sure we’re ready.’ Hermione elaborated. She picked up a blade of grass and handed it to Gellert. ‘My family draw protective runes onto their skin and robes before battle; they saved my life during the duel.’

‘Like blue swirls?’ Gellert confirmed, his eyes flicking up as if calling his dream to mind. ‘I think I remember seeing some.’

‘Excellent.’ Hermione announced. Pointing her wand at the blade of grass in Gellert’s hand. A moment later he was holding a large leaf full of woad paint. Hermione inspected her spell work, determining if the leaf-bowl glitch had affected any other part of her transfiguration. Determining no other problems she shrugged and turned another blade of grass into a paintbrush.

‘I don’t know many, I’m still learning of course, but I can do light, thats this one, and it can’t be covered by clothes. She dipped the brush into the bowl of paint and considered Gellert for a moment. Finally, decided, she pushed his chin up with one hand and pressed the brush to hollow between his collarbones. It left a large blue blob, and she reached for the bowl again, carefully drawing a ring around the blob, then, she drew seven rays which bent backwards about an inch from the circle, then curved back around like a bull’s horn. She carefully pronounced the three magic words that powered the symbol, then sat back to take a look.

‘Right, now I can do a triquetra, that should keep away dark creatures. Here, this one is easy, you can do it on me too.’ Hermione quickly sketched the three interlocking ovals onto his inner wrist, then passed him the brush. He did the same, the brush scribing cool lies against her skin. The paint gleamed darkly, glowing briefly as she incanted the words. Gellert did the same, whispering into his wrist like James Bond into a microphone.

‘Does it only work with certain runes?’ Gellert asked, eyes gleaming as he looked up at her. She shrugged and Gellert dipped the brush into the paint again. He turned her hand upside down and painted four lines, intersecting at the same point. He circled the intersection, then crossed each end with three lines and a “u” facing outwards. The symbol looked very powerful, to Hermione’s inexperienced eye and she held it up to the light, turning it so that light glinted along the wet paint. It looked, she decided, like eight tridents facing outwards from a circle.

‘What is it?’ She asked curiously.

‘The Helm of Awe.’ Gellert explained, his brow furrowing. ‘It’s meant to be a really powerful Norse protection rune.’

‘Here, let me do you.’ Hermione took the brush off him, considered where to put it, then turned him around and pulled his shirt and robes down his shoulder. He protested a little, then obligingly unbuttoned the layers when she said she wanted to do the rune big.

She dipped the brush into the paint just as her family magic roared out from its spot, deep within her own magic. Her hand rose of it’s own accord, lines flowing from beneath the brush. The Helm of Awe appeared in powerful, confident strokes but the paint didn’t shine on the surface, instead it sunk into his skin, dulling and looking awfully permanent. She tried to wrest back control, realising her family magic was giving Gellert a tattoo without his permission, but she didn’t succeed. Instead, as if to spite her, strange words that she’d never heard before rolled from her tongue, deep, guttural and echoing with power.

‘Ægishjalm bar ek of alda sonum, medan ek of menjum lák; einn rammari hugdumk öllum vera, fannk-a ek svá marga mögu.’

Wind howled, tearing the view to shreds of pink mist. The symbol on Gellert’s back seared with light and Gellert cried out in pain.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. The family magic vanished back into the depths of her magic and Hermione regained full control of her body. She dropped to her knees as the scene reformed around them, desperately apologising for whatever her awful magic had done. To her relief, Gellert didn’t seem to be in pain anymore. In fact, he seemed more concerned for her.

‘What happened?’ Gellert asked, reaching over his bared shoulder to touch the rune he couldn’t see.

‘I don’t know, my family magic just... took over.’ The young witch sobbed, feeling terrible.

‘Hey, its alright. It’s fine, it only hurt for a bit. You’ve given me a ward of some sort; see, feel the magic.’ Gellert took her fingers and touched them to the warm skin of the mark. It was a ward, an incredibly powerful one at that, although she had no real idea what it did.

‘I think the mark is stuck there though.’ She protested, feeling like he was being far too forgiving.

‘It’s a long term protective ward - an incredibly powerful one at that. I can think of worse things to have on my skin. It looks impressive too...’ he trailed off, hesitating. ‘It is a Helm of Awe right, not some weird girl rune?’

‘Yes, it’s a helm of awe.’ She reassured, laughing unsteadily.

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t mess with runes we don’t understand though.’ He suggested, Hermione laughed again, agreeing quickly. ‘Your family magic is strong though.’ He added, looking at her intensely as if he could actually see the magic coiled within her.

‘Yeah, and it has a mind of its own.’ She replied irritably.

‘Well yes, it asserts itself often. Mother can only use hers if she’s really focusing, and it never acts for her like that.’

‘She did say it is particularly suited to dark magic and combat, neither of which she really does often. Mine seems to like rituals and runework, which we do use a lot more often.’

‘Can you imagine what we’ll be able to do together when we’re older? If we could combine both family magics?’ Gellert suggested excitedly. Hermione doubted it would ever be possible, her family magic seemed to do whatever it liked with maximum power and minimum care for anyone else. She could hardly imagine that ancient other deigning to meld with Gellert’s magic like she so often did.

‘Can you hear that?’ She asked, instead of replying. Gellert cocked his head, listening for a moment. There was a noise, like distant screaming. ‘We need to wake up, get out of this dream.’

‘Erm, okay, give me your crown.’ Hermione pulled out the six pins that held the pretty ensemble in place and passed it to him. Gellert whipped of his own and put them both on the ground. Then, he pulled out his wand and jabbed it at the two crowns with a flourish. Fire caught onto the delicate arrangements with a whuff, black smoke mixing with the pink steam and filling her mouth with a taste more suited to burning plastic than flowers. She coughed, and when she looked up, the smoke was clearing to reveal a courtyard full of sleeping bodies. Others were stirring - Herr and Frau Lintzen were already up, crowns absent. Hermione jumped up, seeing Gellert doing the same from across the courtyard.

‘The protections triggered in the castle. Someone or something is attacking the wardstone.’ Herr Lintzen informed her as he hobbled past, seizing crowns and setting fire to them to wake those who could fight.

‘Blau Berg?’ Gellert asked, having appeared behind her. She turned, catching sight of the blue marking through his white shirt; he’d already discarded his robe.

‘Yes. You already knew.’ Herr Lintzen growled suspiciously, staring at the same marking.

‘I had a bad dream, so Hermione decided she’d show me some of her Sect’s runes.’ Gellert defended. Frau Lintzen appeared over her husband’s shoulder, her arm winding around his large massive frame.

‘It’s not for us to question how the youth spend their Ostara, Dear. If Gellert and Hermione like drawing on each other, we shouldn’t judge them.’ The tall, willowy witch winked at Hermione leaving her puzzled and feeling like she’d just missed something significant. ‘That is the most powerfully imbued protection rune I’ve seen in quite some time though. I’d love to hear more about it when we have more time, Hermione.’

‘We’re coming with you.’ Gellert insisted stubbornly. Frau Lintzen chuckled.

‘We wouldn’t dare to stop you, especially with a High Priestess backing you.’ She said with some humour, waving them towards the entrance hall. Both children nodded quickly, then turned and pelted headlong across the drawbridge and down the track to the boathouse. They grabbed a handful of floo powder and launched headlong into the flames.

Blau Berg seemed quiet when they arrived. She immediately set off for their rooms; whatever happened to the castle, she couldn’t let Mordred’s sword fall into the wrong hands.

Her passage went almost entirely unopposed and she swept up the sword, buckling it around her shoulders with practiced ease. Mordred appeared suddenly, concern etched across his features. Just as she was leaving the room again the dark knight jumped in front of her, barring the doorway. He brandished her crown in one hand, complete with its protective enchantments. She took it and he fell in behind her on the way down to the ward room.


	57. Bombs

He ran straight for the ward room, wand ready. The castle was deserted, no sign of any attackers. The stone statues that guarded the corridor remained intact and inanimate, no sign that anyone had intruded. He skidded through the doorways, and found his mother standing alone in the centre of the wardroom. The stone was untouched, the shimmering gold shield projected by Hermione’s device was still active. For all intents and purposes nothing was wrong.

‘A rat.’ His mother informed him dryly. She twirled her wand and a small carcass levitated into the air by its bald tail. ‘Hermione’s ward seems to have dealt with the threat more than adequately.’

Gellert pursed his lips, more than a little suspicious. His dream suggested that there was a far greater threat than just the rat, but so far nothing seemed out of the ordinary. If danger was coming, it wouldn’t be from here. They headed back upstairs just as Hermione came dashing down, narrowly avoiding a collision as she used a stone cockatrice to halt her descent. She’d picked up her crown and had Mordred’s sword strapped between her shoulders, the wizard in question followed behind her at a safer pace.

‘Something’s not right. There’s rats everywhere!’ The young witch panted.

‘Rats everywhere?’ His mother confirmed, concern heavy in her voice. Hermione nodded and the matriarch spun, hurrying back down the staircase to the wardroom where they’d left the rat carcass.

The room was full of them, seething in the shadows and darting across the open floor. Hermione had gone white as a sheet and she screeched when one darted through her skirts. She kicked desperately for a moment, stumbling over her own petticoats and entangling both herself and the angrily squealing rat in yards of fabric. Mordred come to the rescue before Gellert could, lifting Hermione off the ground until the rat fell, squeaking, to the floor and scurried away into the shadows.

In the following silence, the pattering and scraping of claws sounded very loud.

‘Disease?’ Mordred finally asked dubiously. That hardly seemed likely; perhaps it would have worked if they were muggles, but magic tended to make wixen less vulnerable to the kinds of sicknesses rats carried.

‘Or, they’re not really rats.’ Lady Grindelwald’s wand twitched and one of the rats came soaring out into the light. She snatched it out of the air where it began to fight ferociously, drawing blood in moments with sharp claws. The matriarch held on grimly, levelling her wand at it once again and twisting the tip in a small, anti-clockwise circle.

One minute there was a rat fighting for freedom in her vicelike grip, the next she was holding what appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a glass jar, filled with dirt and rubbish with a piece of string hanging out the back like a tail. It was, perhaps, designed to make the transfiguration easy because it did bear considerable resemblance to a rat. Hermione peered over his shoulder at the strange item and his mother passed it to her, perhaps wondering if Mordred could shed any more light one the matter.

Hermione and her knight looked just as mystified as they were, and the young witch turned the bottle over a couple of times, shook it twice.

‘Look, there’s a rune!’ Gellert snatched at the string, holding it up to see.

‘Kenaz.’ Mordred said, ‘but not powerful enough for more than a spark.’

‘Doesn’t it have to be accompanied by a Nauthiz to do anything?’ Gellert asked, rolling the string between his fingers incase there was a second rune hidden on the other side. There wasn’t, so he turned it back to the single, arrow shaped Kenaz rune he’d spotted earlier.

‘It depends what you’re hoping to achieve. Futhark is a very diverse language.’

‘Futhark.’ Mordred sniggered, Hermione snorted in a very unladylike manner.

‘I think I’m going to do a Futhark.’ Hermione giggled. Lady Grindelwald glowered at her and Hermione made a valiant effort to straighten her expression, then Mordred leaned over and whispered into her ear and Hermione choked, her face going bright red as she turned away to regain control of herself. Gellert glared at Mordred; the castle was under serious threat and those two were busy making jokes.

‘As I was saying,’ Katerina Grindelwald continued, ‘Futhark is a very diverse runic language, but each rune individually will have a minor effect, which may or may not coincide with the overall effect of a runic sentence. It’s what makes using it so complex.’

‘So we have a spark.’

‘The question is, what does the spark do?’

‘Does every rat have the same rune? Might they be part of some larger spell - each so minor that they wouldn’t trigger the wards, but combining into a bigger spell?’ Hermione asked. Her eyes looked a little watery but she seemed to have regained her composure.

‘Risky. Even a single missing article could ruin the enchantment.’ Mordred pointed out.

‘Alice would have expected the castle to be empty; up until recently, she would have celebrated Ostara with us at Fort Stark.’ Gellert pointed out. His mother nodded slowly, considering the idea.

‘If that is the case, the more rats we can prevent from reaching their goal, the less likely the enchantment is to work as intended. Let’s destroy as many as we can.’ Lady Grindelwald decided.

Hitting the rats turned out to be far more tricky than they’d bargained on. They were small and moved quickly and they had to be careful not to hit the wardstone or Hermione’s little device. Mordred was the first to succeed; decapitating one with a clang of steel against stone as it made to run beneath Hermione’s skirts. Gellert got one a moment later with a flash of red. The spark rune ignited on the rats tail, and slowly the transfiguration unravelled. Gellert was already trying to hit the next rat.

‘There’s got to be a better way.’ He hissed as his mother caught one with a blue spark. Three rats down... Hermione was staring at the one he’d stopped a moment ago, something akin to horror on her face.

‘It’s a bomb.’ She said numbly, then she suddenly seemed to animate. ‘Run, run, get out of here!’ She charged for the doorways, but barely managed three steps before the bottle erupted into flames. Shards of glass and metal blasted across the room in a deadly wave, setting off a chain reaction. Gellert didn’t think, he just dove on top of his mother, bowling her to the floor and shielding her with his smaller body. His shoulder burned as fire washed over them, but that was the only pain, Hermione’s ward coated his skin and protected him.

His mother was less fortunate and she kicked and writhed in pain beneath him, screams that would haunt his nightmares lost to the rattle of explosions and roar of flames. He flexed his hand, his bellowed incantation merging with his mother’s cries. His conjured shield billowed out, then collapsed, his concentration ruined. He tried again, failed, then his mother stilled beneath him. Horrified, Gellert pulled back slightly, then saw Mordred, ghostlike and insubstantial with flames coiling disconcertingly through his form. He held Lady Grindelwald’s hand, a silvery sheen covering the high witch’s skin. Gellert close his eyes and buried his face into warm stone, waiting out the fire.

It felt like hours, but perhaps only lasted minutes. Thousands of thoughts flew through his mind - Hermione must be okay, despite having been near the epicentre of the first blast. Mordred would never have left her side otherwise. His mother wouldn’t be able to walk, he was certain of it. He was certain he’d managed to protect her torso and face but her wand hand - the one that Mordred held had looked red and blistered, even beneath the silvery glow of the dark knight’s ward.

The flames died quickly; there was nothing flammable inside the wardroom beyond whatever had caused the initial ignition. Gellert pushed himself up as soon as the light faded from behind his eyelids, searching for Hermione.

She was unharmed, her silver dress bright against the soot-blackened walls as she summoned three wands from the debris. Shards of glass and metal were scattered across the floor, blackened and warped by heat. The wardstone was ruined; perhaps with time it would be salvageable, but right now they didn’t have that luxury. The fire may have died in the wardroom, but distant explosions still echoed through the castle and smoke was already thickening the air.

He turned to his mother, then instantly looked away again. He took a moment to steel his nerves, then looked back. As he’d hoped, his warded body had shielded her torso and head. Her hands weren’t in too bad shape - the skin was red and blistering slightly, but her legs were another story.

Despite all he’d been through, despite having seen his own body in graphic state, he found himself emptying his stomach across the floor.

‘Get Hermione out of here.’ He ordered Mordred quickly. The knight looked up at him, dark eyes taking in the determined set of Gellert’s chin. Finally, he nodded, ghosting across the room and leading Hermione up the stairs, returning his wand as they passed and shielding Hermione’s eyes. Gellert was left alone with his mother, still unconscious under Mordred’s spell.

With practiced movements he conjured bandages and began wrapping them around his mother’s legs from toe to thigh. It was a mess, with charred dress stuck in clumps and shards of glass and metal that worryingly weren’t bleeding. He pulled out the worst pieces of shrapnel, but left most in. He needed to be able to move his mother as soon as possible and the coven’s healers could tend to her better once they were safe.

With her legs and arms wrapped in clean white bandages, he cast a levitation charm and manoeuvred her up the long staircase, careful not to hit her legs or head against the stone walls of steps.

As he got higher the smoke thickened, until he literally crashed into Hermione at the top of the stairs.

‘The whole castle is on fire.’ Hermione gasped. She had a scrap of her skirt wound about her mouth and carried one of the extendable book bags from the library. Mordred followed behind, sword out and glinting, ready to defend his High Priestess from danger.

‘Would any of your spells work?’ He asked quickly, Hermione’s eyebrows moved as she pulled a face but with most of her features covered by a makeshift mask, he didn’t know exactly what she was trying to say.

‘We could get rid of the air. That would put out a fair few flames.’ Mordred suggested, ‘but it will be hard, more than you’ve done before.’

Hermione barely hesitated, her hands flying out to either side and powerful magic billowing from her fingertips as she began the process of casting one of her area effect spells. He stood, turning to Mordred.

‘Can you protect her?’ He asked, hating that he needed to do this, but his mother was injured and he needed to get her to a healer urgently. For now there was no physical attack on the castle and he hoped he could be back by her side in minutes... in the meantime, as much as he hated him, Mordred was a powerful and experienced warrior. Hermione would be safe. Predictably, Mordred nodded.

He hurried the rest of the way up into the castle proper, bursting through the doorway into hell on earth. Flames licked up tapestries and ate away at wooden furniture, carpets smouldered and books popped and sparked as their covers warped. Smoke lay heavy in the air and he pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, stumbling along with muscle memory alone as a guide.

He was about to pass the foyer when he heard the voices - cries of aguamenti in the familiar tones of the coven. He called out to them and a moment later six shapes emerged from the smoke, shimmering bubbles cast over their heads. Frau Kollmann tapped him over the head and a bubble appeared, allowing him to breathe clean air.

‘What happened?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Where’s Hermione?’

He was bombarded by questions and for a moment he felt a little shell shocked, his brain blending half the words into a blur of sound.

‘Hermione called it a bomb, transfigured into a rat, it set off a chain of explosions. Mother needs a healer, urgently.’ He sent her drifting forwards with a wave of his wand and the spell was taken up by a concerned Herr Freidl.

‘Where’s Hermione?’ Arika Fleiss asked, Gellert frowned at her in puzzlement. He could feel exactly where the younger witch was, her magic saturated the air with a potency so heavy he almost felt he was touching her. Not knowing where she was would be like looking into the sky at midday and not being able to see the sun. None of the other adults seemed surprised by the dark witch’s question, and Gellert wondered if any of them could feel her. Was it not as normal as he thought to have such a clear visual representation of magic?

He answered without thinking and tension melted from the group of adults - it really was remarkable how quickly Hermione had wound them around her fingers. He was assigned to return to her with Berg and they would all retreat through the floo whilst the adults got the fires under control - could they not feel that Hermione was already working on that? - and searched the castle for any second assault.

As they split up, he called a warning to be ready for attack to the group going to check for other intruders. He was incredibly glad that he’d confided his dreams with Hermione. Without that lingering doubt that he’d ben imagining things, he was confident that he knew what was about to happen - there would be intruders but he would reach Hermione safely.

The fires had fully taken hold by now and it took a long time to make their way back to Hermione, fighting the fire with water spells as they went. The moment Hermione’s spell took effect was incredible - one minute the fires raged, then next they winked out leaving not even an ember still burning.

The explosions had blown the glass out of almost every window and the smoke cleared quickly, so they could see Hermione, unconscious in a pool of silver skirts at the end of a long corridor well before they reached her. Mordred was still standing over her, sword drawn but he kept flickering in and out of focus like he was struggling to remain on the physical plane. Gellert called to him and he looked up, relief evident in every line of his body. He nodded to them, then disappeared.

‘Was that Mordred?’ Berg asked, surprised. ‘I expected someone older.’

‘What?’ Gellert asked, mystified. Berg didn’t answer, he was too busy checking Hermione for injury with a host of detection charms which glowed and flashed in a series Gellert couldn’t hope to understand. The other boy had come a long way from their simple bruise healing charm in the desert.

‘She’s just exhausted, not even close to burned out.’ The boy shook his head in amazement, ‘it’s terrifying what having a sect lets her do. I can’t wait to join her coven.’

‘What if I decided to form an Order?’ Gellert asked, half joking. Covens were more traditional and he’d always planned to let Anneken form a coven anyway, and Anneken had already decided that Hermione should take the position. Gellert was more than happy with the arrangement.

The two boys tucked an arm each under Hermione’s limp ones, and hefted her up onto their shoulders. She was incredibly light and much shorter than either of them, worryingly light, Gellert decided. Was she eating enough to sustain the amount of magic she frequently expended?

‘I hope I’ll be in her coven at least. I’m not very strong.’ Berg’s voice trembled and Gellert looked at him in surprise.

‘I thought you didn’t care if you ended up in the coven?’

‘I didn’t...’ Berg hesitated ‘Can we talk about this later?’

‘Sure.’ Gellert agreed easily. There was a moment of awkward shuffling and annoyed grunting as they manoeuvred down a short flight of stairs and through a narrow doorway. Berg, whose old manor hadn’t had a single doorway without enough room to get a woman in a crinoline through.

Berg halted suddenly, throwing Gellert of balance as Hermione’s arm almost slipped from his shoulder. ‘D’you hear that? Fighting?’

‘Yes.’ It was distant, but he could clearly hear incantations and explosions and the crash of curses against shields.

‘You’re the better dueller. Let me take Hermione, and lets get to the floo room before something goes wrong.’

‘You just had to say something.’ Gellert remarked dryly as Berg shifted Hermione into his arms.

They jogged through the corridors, Gellert leading with his wand already drawn and a shield charm lighting the tip silver - he needed to learn that offhand shield charm if they were going to keep fighting battles.

The fighting was near the back of the castle, where the smaller doors opened onto the rolling back lawn. He decided right then that if he ever built a castle, there would be no back gate into the gardens. He’d have front gardens only, and one big front door and no other entrances.

They hurried past the burnt tapestries and charred furniture, puffs of ash billowing into the air with every step. The sounds of fighting grew louder, pressing closer to them as they reached the entrance hall.

Gellert’s reaction was spectacular - his shield flared just in time to block an unrecognisable pink curse.

‘Brother.’ Their opponent’s voice was intimately familiar to him, one that he’d grown up hearing.

‘Alice.’ Berg replied coldly. The enemy witch stood at the top of the opposite set of stairs, dressed in her pristine white battle robes. Not even a smudge of soot obscured her immaculate skin and hair and he knew there was no way she’d been fighting.

‘Come now, be more respectful to your matriarch.’ Alice pouted and Berg’s expression flickered as if he couldn’t decide whether he was sad or angry. If he wasn’t carrying Hermione slung across his shoulders, Gellert would have been willing to bet he would be kneeding his trousers between his fingers - a nervous tic the boy seemed unable to tame.

‘I do not acknowledge your claim.’ Berg eventually said, his mouth settling on defiance. His posture straightened as much as it could with the young witch over his shoulder.

‘The magic has acknowledged me, you should too. That is, if you’re as loyal to the old ways as you claim.’ Alice called across the room. The signet ring flashed on her finger, catching the light and glowing amber. The sight of it made Gellert irrationally angry; such a small thing that held such power and certainly did not belong where it currently sat. His fingers clenched around his wand and he was about to try and curse the ring off her undeserving finger when Berg called out.

‘You would not honour the old ways enough to allow a dispute.’

‘You shouldn’t need to dispute my claim. I am the eldest, I was the heir. I am powerful and educated in the role.’ She snapped, and neither boy missed that she didn’t deny Berg’s words. The ring, Gellert noticed, was a male one - big and bulky on her slender fingers. That meant Alice hadn’t actually been before the family magic to stake her claim as matriarch, or the ring would have been reformed to suit her. He didn’t know why, perhaps she hadn’t had time or didn’t know the ritual or, perhaps she was afraid that her claim would be rejected. His mind buzzed; there had to be some way they could use that.

‘You work against the very values of our family. You trample over traditions as you trample over lives.’ Argued Berg

‘Traditions? Values?’ Alice reared backwards, her expression turning thunderous. ‘How dare you speak to me of traditions and values when you stood by whilst our own parents brought shame on our family?’

‘It is you who shames us, it is you who has brought our family to it’s knees.’

‘I have taught a lesson to those who would disrespect our status as an ancient house.’ The witch screeched, spittle flying from her lips as she jabbed her off hand in the direction of Gellert. ‘I was the heir to the ancient house of Tunninger, one of the oldest and most noble houses in the world, and a mudblood upstart, with no inheritance and no name was given the position of channel over me. Yet not one of you even acknowledged the sleight to our honour.’

‘There was no sleight.’ Berg said, his voice cold and terrible. ‘The ancient ways place power over individual honour. You should have been honoured to become a member of such a powerful witch’s coven, as have generations of ancestors before us. You have placed your own pride above the good of our people, of our family and of the covens. It is you who have shamed us with your selfish actions. Now, you will not be at the side of Hermione of Gorlois, your name will be a speck on the tapestry of history whilst those who held true, who put the greater good before themselves will rise with her, and our names, our honour will become cemented in glorious legends.’

‘She wields the fancy name of a dead family, but it will not be her name that goes down in history. It will be the revolution, who tore down the decayed parody of the old ways and restored us to our former glory. Today, today the Grindelwalds will fall; their castle, their legacy, and now their children. You among them, former brother!’

Alice brandished her wand and Tunninger family magic roared out in a brutal arc. Gellert threw a hasty shield up between them and her and the powerful magic buffeted against it. Berg spun sideways and through a doorway, Gellert dove after him and they slammed the door behind them, locking it.

A moment later the door blasted off it’s hinges, Alice storming through the void. Gellert froze and he heard Berg’s breathing hitch beside him. The older witch prowled further into the room, eyes sweeping over the ruined decor. Her eyes fell on a bulky, ornate cupboard and she jabbed her wand at it with a savagely snarled incantation and it exploded, splinters flying across the room and glancing off the statue they hid behind. Gellert reached up quickly and yanked on the babbling witches wand.

The grating of stone was undisguisable and Alice spun to see the tail end of Berg’s coat whizzing away down a long, stone slide that had formed where the statue was. Gellert blasted a jinx at her, then jumped down the slide as well. A roar of fire followed him, licking at the protective rune but unable to take hold.

The slide was steep, blindingly fast and full of twists and turns but he managed to conjure... stuff. Most of it was illformed and random, but anything Alice hit at this speed would be sure to do some damage.

Then he whizzed out through a charred tapestry in a puff of ash and was hauled to his feel by Berg. The other wizard already had Hermione slung over his shoulder and this time he had his wand in his free hand.

‘She didn’t get hurt on the way down?’ Gellert demanded. Berg shook his head.

‘Not a scratch, the enchantments on that crown are pretty impressive.’

‘Right, this way.’ Gellert took off down the corridor to the left, just as Alice barrelled through the tapestry behind them. She was finally injured; blood streaked her robes and dripped from a cut on her cheek and Gellert guessed she must have blasted apart the obstacles as she reached them. When she stood, her robes were smeared with charcoal.

‘Fight me!’ She screeched as they whipped around the corner. A spell blew apart the carved stone trimming, and another shattered the mirror on the far wall. The boys swerved sideways again, darting into the ghost’s wing, startling a pearly Englishman in a ruff. He spluttered indignantly as they dashed along the corridor, puffs of dust pluming from the carpets. The passed the stinking banquet hall, the music room which was blessedly silent and plunged straight through a mounted knight in the ballroom. The knight bellowed at them, assuring the young lords that the ghosts would hold her off as a pale young boy beckoned from another secret passageway.

‘What...’ Berg wheezed, ‘can ghosts do...’ They paused so that Gellert could take Hermione for a bit, allowing the other boy to catch his breath. ‘... to stop a witch?’

‘We can perform a haunting.’ The boy whispered from up ahead. A moment later, they found out exactly what a haunting meant as a terrible wail echoed through the passageway. It was accompanied by discordant screeching of instruments, banging of doors and drawers and the rattle of windows in their frames. As if the sound wasn’t terrible enough, every light extinguished, including that of their wands and the air took on a distinctive chill. In the darkness, the boy glowed eerily, and by his light they made it to another door.

‘I can go no further. The ghost wing ends here. You’ll find yourself in the kitchen.’ Then, with a slight bow, the boy dashed off back up the corridor. Gellert pushed open the iron-bound door and they emerged into the light of the kitchen. The elves were gone, meals half prepared on the benches. A cauldron stirred itself over an extinguished hearth and a tap was running, overflowing the sink and pooling on the floor to mix with a sack of spilled flour.

There was no real choice over where to go next. They scrambled over the splintered remains of the kitchen doors and climbed the narrow staircase into the courtyard. A battle had already been fought here, but had clearly moved on; stonework and glass was shattered across the courtyard and a pool of lava bubbled ominously, eating away at the foundations of the South Tower. They skirted around it and crunched across what had once been a rose garden and was now being grazed by a stone goat.

Up they went again, through the doors and along a hallway where destroyed suits of armour tried to reassemble themselves, then they skidded to a stop, peering cautiously through the doorway and into the massive entrance hall. It was empty, but in far worse state than it had been when they’d left it last. The chandeliers had fallen, massive metal rings heaped like coins in the four corners of the rooms as their chains hissed an spat like snakes; the result of some animation spell for sure. A deep crevasse rent the room from the colossal doors to the crumbling pillars that supported the soaring roof.

‘The whole castle is going to come down soon.’ Berg muttered. Numb, Gellert just nodded. It was a little like having his life flash before his eyes - the first time he’d managed to walk down the front staircase without touching the bannister, the spot where he’d stood with his nanny elf as his mother rode out with the coven to confront his father, where Hermione had met him before his first ritual as channel like an angel in her white dress.

‘Let’s go.’ Gellert decided. He could reminisce later, otherwise they would be going down with the castle.

They made it half way down the staircase before everything went wrong. A line of fire roared in front of them and they skidded to a halt, turning to see Alice stepping out from behind a pillar. She looked mad, her hair whipped into a wild frenzy around her head, blood and scratches covering her arms and staining her sooty white battle robes.

‘You’re stuck now... no ghosts, no secret passages, just me and you.’ She crooned. Gellert drew himself up, knowing that she was right.He laid Hermione on the floor, his gaze lingering for a moment on the young witch. Her silver dress was still clean, protected by the powerful warding that was etched into the glittering crown on her brow. Her hair was wild around her face, splaying like a thick halo of brown around her head. He readied his wand.

Alice struck, her family magic manifesting in fire as it roared towards them. Gellert slashed his wand diagonally, dissipating it with a powerful wind. Berg swished and flicked his wand in a blur of repetitive movements, flinging everything loose at his sister. Alice deflected them all with a white flashing shield, then brought her wand scything down. The air seemed to become heavy on his shoulders, Berg, who was carrying Hermione, dropped to his knees. Somehow, Gellert managed to drag his leaden feet out of the way of a crimson stunning spell and then he jabbed his wand, sending Alice stumbling backwards as if punched in the gut. He cast a quick finite, just as Berg reached the protection of one of the large pillars.

His friend, now relatively safe behind cover, leaned out and hit Alice with a dancing feet spell. Gellert dove to join Berg behind the protection of the pillar as Alice, fuming, cancelled the spell.

‘You’re both pathetic! The coven system would be doomed if you survived to take its head.’ She taunted. ‘Now, see what a real witch can do!’

Neither boy dared poke their head around the pillar to see what she was doing as she cast a long, wordy spell. Something roared and the ground shook as something massive took thunderous steps towards them, there was a moment of silence, then a crash as massive, flaming claws raked the stones to either side of the pillar. Berg whimpered and they pressed closer together. Then, the conjured beast took one step closer and the clawed foot wrapped around the pillar and tore it out.

The boys yelled and scrambled sideways to the next pillar in the line as the roof groaned alarmingly, dust sprinkling down from above. A massive jaw closed around the place they’d just stood, snapping on air. The dragon reared back and swung its head in their direction as Alice’s mad laughter rang across the hall as she directed it from the top of the staircase, using her wand like a conductor’s baton. With a whoosh, flames spilled from the mouth of the dragon and the two boys were engulfed in an inferno.

Their hastily conjured shield barely held as both boys poured everything they could muster into it.

‘She’s using it wrong.’ Berg gritted, although Gellert didn’t know if his words were meant to be a prayer or a reassurance.

‘I don’t think it matters.’ Gellert spat back, ‘We haven’t got family magic. We’ve got no chance without Hermione.’

‘She’s forcing it.’ Berg explained, ‘Father said our magic was life magic, not death magic.’ Then, to Gellert’s utmost horror, the other boy suddenly stepped through the shield and into the torrent of flames. For a moment, Gellert expected to hear agonised screams, but Berg just stood there. Fire blasted around him, whipping his hair and curling in demonic trails behind him as he waded, unharmed and unseen, through the blaze.

The fire cut off so abruptly that Gellert was left blinking in the suddenly darker hall. Berg stood, head bowed over his sister’s unconscious form, at the top of the staircase. He hurried up the staircase and barely restrained his sigh of relief when he saw the movement of her chest. Whilst Alice had caused problems, she had still been one of his childhood friends and she was not a dark witch.

For a moment, both boys just looked down at her. Unconscious, she looked far more like the Alice they had known, the twisted expression relaxed into blankness. He considered the ring on her finger briefly, confirming that it really was a men’s signet then reached over for her wand which had rolled down a couple of steps. Whilst a part of him thought they should capture her, he also knew that doing so would leave her at the mercy of the coven’s justice. He didn’t know exactly what she’d been involved in, but it would be bound magic at the least and he just couldn’t inflict that on her. Instead, he reached for her wand - a long, slender twist of ivory coloured wood. He snapped it with a decisive crack, trails of stringy unicorn hair resisting with slightly before giving way as well. Berg watched him with an impressively blank expression.

‘Gregorovitch is in the castle with us so she’ll struggle to replace it with anything better than a close match.’ He explained, dropping the pieces over her splayed battle robe. The roof groaned alarmingly again and more dust rattled down. Both boys glanced upwards warily, then Gellert dashed for Hermione and scooped up her limp body. They dashed for the floo room, diving through just as the roof came down, blocking the doorway. A moment later they were stepping out into the afternoon sunlight of Fort Stark.


	58. Estelle

Gellert was waiting by her bedside when Hermione next woke up. She knew immediately that she was in Fort Stark; Blau Berg smelled of crisp mountains and cool pines, where Fort Stark was all warm cedar and heady flowers.

She sat bolt upright, startling Gellert who had been staring out of the window.

‘How’s your mother?’ She demanded, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and taking a quick inventory of her belongings. Mordred’s sword had been propped up against the wardrobe, and her crown was still on her head - immovable except by her own hands. A wonderful little enchantment for something that would otherwise be an incredibly impractical piece of headwear... probably symbolic too, but she was less concerned by that.

‘The healers are still working on her.’ Gellert replied. ‘The castle is ruined.’

Her stomach felt like it had turned to stone; Blau Berg was her favourite place in the world, it was almost as much of a home to her as her muggle parents home. Then she realised that if she felt like that, Gellert must feel even worse. The castle was his only home, the only place he’d ever known. From what she knew he’d hardly left its walls before going to Durmstrang. She crossed the room quickly, wrapping him in a tight hug.

‘We’ll fix it.’ She promised into his shoulder.

‘We can’t, Mione.’ He sighed heavily. ‘There were so many enchantments, things that are just irreplaceable. Knowledge that has been lost.’

‘Of course we can. We’re brilliant and powerful. There is nothing we can’t do. We’ll fix Blau Berg, in fact, we’re going to make it better.’ She pulled away so that she could look him in the eyes. He had a pinkish cut beneath his eye, freshly healed and a dark bruise on his forehead. His lips lifted into a weak smile.

‘Okay.’ Gellert agreed. ‘Better.’

A knock came at the door and Hermione quickly moved away to a period-appropriate distance from Gellert and called for the knocker to come in. It was Berg, looking absolutely terrible. He shuffled over, dropping into the third chair in the room.

Hermione had absolutely no idea what had happened after she’d put out the fires, but she could assume it wasn’t good if the entire castle had collapsed - had anyone been inside still?

‘Were there any other injuries?’ She asked, trying to sound sensitive. Gellert shrugged.

‘A conjunctivitis curse that the healers think will wear off eventually and a vanished arm bone. Nothing the healers couldn’t fix.’ She looked at him pointedly and the boy launched into an account of what had happened, Berg chipping in occasionally.

They were interrupted by another knock on the door and this time it was a fresh faced healer in teal robes to inform them that Lady Grindelwald was ready to see them. All three of them jumped up and hurriedly straightened each other’s clothing. The nurse waited outside, a somewhat bemused expression on her lively face as the three children filed out.

The castle was packed and Hermione could see that tents had been set up across the lawns, squeezed into the spaces between hastily dug crop fields that flourished under magical care. Despite the bright summer sunlight, there was a strange feeling in the air. She overheard conversations about people going home and what they planned to do when they had their own space. Something had changed overnight and Hermione had no idea what.

They were admitted into Lady Grindelwald’s room as a group, lining up infront of the doorway. The two boys bowed and Hermione curtsied deeply, the routine so familiar that she barely even thought about it. Then, her eyes lifted.

The powerful matriarch was propped up in a large bed in the brightly lit room, a steaming pot of tea on the table beside her and an array of creams and potions on the dresser. She had her bandaged hands clasped across her lap, wand held delicately between them. Her hair had been cut into a severe bob, removing the frazzled ends which emphasised her strong cheekbones and made her look slightly gaunt. She surveyed her child and two wards in silence.

‘Berg.’ She finally said. Berg stepped forwards and bowed again, the only one of them to betray any nervousness. ‘Tell me what happened with Alice.’

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then, eyes fixed firmly on the bed hangings, he spoke. ‘My father used to tell us that the family magic is for life magic. He used to use it to make the livestock breed or get the crops to grow a little faster and bigger, he could make it rain if it was dry or stop it raining if it was flooding. She was trying to make it kill us, and it hated it. I could feel it hating it, and I took a guess that if the magic was face with a choice, it would choose not to hurt another of its sons. She was so busy forcing the magic to work for her that she didn’t even notice my stunning spells.’

Lady Grindelwald nodded.

‘Family magic is not fully understood, so few of us have it and each magic is very different. What you did was brave but very foolish. Never-the-less, Alice was defeated, so all is well.’ The matriarch turned to Hermione next and called her forwards. Hermione curtsied deeply again, then stood in silence as she was inspected.

‘I assume a bomb is a muggle invention?’ Lady Grindelwald asked. Hermione nodded. ‘I have heard that it was your protective rune which saved both myself and Gellert. Tell me, how did you know he would need it?’

Hermione hesitated, resisting the urge to look back at Gellert.

‘Gellert had a dream about a battle and we ended up taking about it. I was just drawing the rune to reassure him and my family magic took over. It imbued it with... some kind of incantation.’

Lady Grindelwald turned to Gellert and demanded that he explain his dream. He did, going into all the details, and even explaining that exactly that scene had taken place. Lady Grindelwald listened intently, then sighed.

‘My grandmother was a seer.’ Lady Grindelwald informed them after a second of silence. Berg and Gellert both gasped, whilst Hermione just looked blankly at her. The matriarch relented and explained that seers were rare - a genetic magical gift that allowed one to see into the future. Hermione turned gobsmacked eyes on Gellert, who had gone very pink. ‘We will of course need to hone your gift. I will speak to the headmaster of Durmstrang...’

‘Durmstrang? We’re going back?’ Berg interrupted, then he winced, cowering backwards as Lady Grindelwald arched an eyebrow at him.

‘Yes, Berg. You will be returning to school next week, and you will see out the summer term with no more adventures. Alice was not the only one defeated yesterday - we also captured Estelle DuMortier. She has been tried by the coven and is to be hung at sunset tonight.’

‘Estelle DuMortier?’ Gellert questioned, unfamiliar with the name. Lady Grindelwald sighed, amusement flicking the corners of her mouth upwards.

‘Yes, DuMortier’s wife and the one who took over his revolution after you so spectacularly crushed him with your bird.’ There was a moment of dumbstruck silence as the three children took this in.

‘But Alice?’ Hermione asked. This time, Lady Grindelwald’s smile became a tinkling laugh.

‘As important as Alice may have seemed to you, she was only a lieutenant - a powerful tool because of her name, knowledge and family magic but still only fifteen. You are all powerful, but you are children. This fight is over, you have a week left of your holidays, and magic have mercy on you if I hear of any of you doing something beyond your years.’ She fixed all three of them with a stern gaze and all three of them cracked a small smile.

‘What about the castle?’ Gellert finally asked, a note of desperation in his voice.

‘Lord Lintzen has kindly offered to allow us to remain here until I recover. Then, we shall begin rebuilding. In the meantime, might I suggest you and Hermione visit her family stronghold? After all, I believe there is someone waiting there for her?’

‘Katana!’ Hermione breathed, a grin breaking out over her face. Lady Grindelwald nodded.

‘Now off with you, the sun is shining and I’ve heard enough screeching from outside to know that the moat is ready for swimming.’


	59. Visiting

The past couple of days had held a golden glow a people packed up their belongings and returned home. Fort Stark slowly emptied and Gellert, Berg and Hermione were, as their mother had promised, free of all obligation. They swum in the moat every day; Hermione was a surprisingly strong swimmer, even if she insisted on shocking both of her brothers by wearing a pair of old boy’s shorts and a shirt when she swum. They cast magic and went on long, idyllic rides through the extensive parkland that surrounded the Lintzen’s home.

Two days in, Hermione decided that she would take him to visit her family holding in Orkney. Berg declined the invitation, having secured himself a day of riding with Neele Fleiss, whom he’d spent Ostara with twice now.

She met him in his rooms as he was fretting over what to wear and he quickly took in her clothing, using it to guide his choices. She wore reasonably warm clothing - one of the semi-formal black dresses, made for her with exquisite care by Atalanta; Hermione’s devoted admirer. Unfortunately, Gellert didn’t have the luxury of a large wardrobe anymore, or an apprentice seamstress who worshipped the ground he walked on, so he ended up choosing a set of robes that had belonged to Herr Lintzen when he was younger and slimmer.

They wandered down the the portal at a leisurely pace, Gellert pressing Hermione for information whilst she steadfastly refused to answer anything. Therefore, when she activated the portalwith a confidence he envied, he had absolutely no idea what he was stepping into.

A bog, as it turned out. His first three steps were across stone, his fourth sunk into muddy grass with a heavy squelch. He was in a small ring of stones on a wide expanse of windswept moorland. The sea glittered to his left, trimmed in whitecaps and washing gently against the black rocky shore. Hermione grabbed his hand and started up an unmistakable path - bright green through the brown bracken and heather and marked with piles of stone every couple of meters. They crested a small hill and he realised they were on a long pit of land, almost but not quite connected to another spit curling out from another landmass. Just before the distant shore was the biggest ritual circle he’d ever seen and between them and it was a large grassy mound. Grazing nearby were three pearly white beasts under the supervision of a dark figure.

Hermione led him down the hill, boots splashing in the sloppy grass. There was no physical boundary to the wards, but it felt like he’d been pulled through a solid, oppressive wall of air when he crossed through them. They were easily the strongest set of wards he’d ever felt and like the barrows that had guarded the portals in Germany, these were very obviously sentient.

The figure that had been tending to the beasts waved to them, and Gellert wondered what kind of creature it was - as far as he knew, Hermione was the first of her family in centuries.

Hermione changed her course, heading down to the figure and beasts, stepping high and fighting her way through the course ground cover. As they got closer, he realised that however real the figure looked, like Mordred he was just a spirit. His skin was covered with shifting runes that slithered and reformed with every moment - animals, Ogham, swirls and symbols. Across his back was a wickedly carved staff, tipped by a savage flint spike and at his belt hung a short sword.

‘High Priestess.’ The being bowed to her and Hermione hugged him fiercely, surprising him. ‘Who is your guest?’

‘This is Gellert Grindelwald. Gellert, this is Gorlois, who gave his name to our line.’

Gellert bowed deeply to the spirit and the spirit nodded back. He stood still whilst he was inspected critically by those piercing blue eyes. Then, seeming to judge him sufficient, the spirit of Gorlois turned away sharply.

‘How did you fare in your war?’ He asked Hermione and the young witch launched into a blow by blow account of her duel and the following battles. Gorlois was a good audience, reacting in all the right parts as they trampled their way over to the beasts. Katana was the first to see them and with a screech he half-flew, half-galloped over to them, stopping in a bluster of wings and fine swirling hair. Hermione laughed and leapt forwards to hug him. Gellert and Gorlois stood back to allow the reunion as his mother’s two Granians trotted over to see what was going on.

Gorlois helped Hermione up onto Katana’s tall back and witch and beast launched into the air leaving the two males to walk by themselves.

‘So you’re the one who introduced her to her lineage?’ Gorlois said in his gruff voice.

‘I was the first to meet her but I was not present when she first met the Lady Morgana and Lady Morgause.’ He replied, deciding honesty was the best policy. Far above them, Katana screeched, wheeling on his silver wings and one of the Granians took off to join him, followed shortly by the other.

‘Hmm.’ Gellert glanced sideways at him. They walked in silence for a bit longer, cutting back to the path so that they could make better ground. ‘Mordred doesn’t like you.’ Gorlois said after a couple of minutes. A scowl twisted Gellert’s features despite his best efforts to keep it off.

‘I don’t like him either.’ He bit out. Gorlois chuckled, his voice a deep baritone. It would have been reassuring if his hand didn’t rest on his sword.

‘He gathered as much.’

‘Hermione likes him, so I’ll not fight with him unnecessarily. I understand that he is her link to your family.’ Gellert tried to compromise, feeling an awful lot like he was rapidly failing a test,

‘Oh, fight him all you want.’ Gorlois laughed. ‘Fighting is good for the soul. Otherwise it just stews inside until it turns you dark. No, I think you should have a good long discussion, perhaps whack each other with a sword. Aggression is only natural in two healthy young men, especially when a witch is involved.’

Still chuckling to himself, Gorlois continued walking even as Gellert found himself rooted to the spot. Gorlois wanted him to fight with Mordred? Gellert had never considered aggression to be the solution to any problem before, but what the ancient patriarch said made absolute sense; his resentment of Mordred had festered darkly beneath the thin veneer of politeness that Hermione enforced between them. If they dragged it out and spoke about it and inevitably fought - whether they ended up whacking each other with swords, or just shouting, could it fix the issue? At least then Mordred would know why he didn’t like them.

He resolved to give it a go just as Hermione landed like a bolt of lightning beside him. She wore an exuberant grin, hair flying loose and wild around the crown on her brow. She swung down, letting the reins of the halter her beast wore drop to the ground and with much more bounce in her step, she circled the massive grassy mound.

It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected from such an ancient family - a cramped, roughly carved crawl space into a mound of earth. After several long seconds of shuffling in the dark space, he finally saw Hermione’s silhouette straighten in a dimly lit chamber. A moment later, he too was standing.

‘Waah!’ He jumped backwards as a leering skull filled his vision, stumbling over the slightly uneven walls. ‘Yeeugh!’ He cried out again as skeletal fingers wrapped around his arm and caught him before he could fall. He scrambled away to safety, realising that both Hermione and Gorlois seemed to find his situation hilarious. Two skeletons lounged in the small chamber, jaws clacking in an imitation of laughter. He huffed in outrage, glaring at the skeleton who’d initially startled him.

‘Do you have no concept of manners?’ He demanded, earning another round of laughter.

‘Eowan was brought up by werewolves, so no, no manners.’ Gorlois managed to tell him through gales of laughter. He could sort of see the funny side but his pride was too wounded to laugh. Instead, he just straightened and brushed off his clothes.

Eventually, Eowan the skeleton joined his companion and opened a passageway that tunnelled deep into the ground and he followed Hermione down into the depths. It was very gloomy but dry and the stones were still crisp and new feeling beneath the hand he ran down the wall. Sharp edged carvings decorated the walls - he could just make out a large, horned creature with birds spread beneath his outstretched arms. There were more like that; something that looked like a massive deer with the most impressive rack he’d ever seen. Depictions of children danced beneath the antlers.

He fell behind as he looked at each individual carving, so he emerged into the bustling main room just as a crowd dispersed. Skeletons clacked to each other and ghosts drifted away in clusters as the walls seethed with carved figures returning to their positions.

The entire building was packed from floor to low ceiling with fascinating artefacts - secrets lost to time. Between the arched doorways were thick, bulky chests, strapped in iron, silver and gold. A library contained mounds of scrolls and books; ancient and lost knowledge. A room of weapons and armour, another of seemingly random items that he assumed were valuable. A grumpy golem ushered him back over to Hermione who was standing by the massive doors at the end of the room. She ushered him through into a sparse living area. There was an open hearth in the middle of the room and a massive cauldron on six legs which clanked over. It lowered itself into an awkward bow, then one of the handles started moving like a mouth as the cauldron began a tirade of complaints about that lack of ingredients.

Until that moment, Gellert had never even believed it possible for something so different from a human to look so expressive as the cauldron physically seemed to wilt when Hermione broke the news that they were only staying for an hour or two.

He was allowed, under strict supervision, to peruse their incredible store room of artefacts whilst Hermione received a strictly confidential lesson that she’d already promised to share with him once they returned home.

He’d never seen or heard of most of the items here but all of them were magical- there was a wealth of jewellery laden with protective enchantments, glittering poison chalices, horns that could summon sprites and demons, a hamper that could multiply food, a gilded chariot, halters, bridles, saddles, decorated battle cloths, all enchanted in ways so complex that he couldn’t even begin to translate the runes. There were other, less obvious items as well that still thrummed with magic - a pile of heavy iron chains, a bundle of thorny branches, piles of whitish metal ingots, jars of sand.

With so much interesting stuff to look at, he barely noticed time passing until Hermione appeared at the doorway. She had a bundle of parchment under her arm and her fingers were stained with ink. He joined her quickly, leaving behind an urn of large silver coins that almost vibrated with the presence of a powerful curse. He took some of the parchments from her, sharing the burden and they began making their way up and out of the barrow.

‘Do you know how many rituals have been lost?’ Hermione demanded as they emerged into the dimly lit entrance room, frustration leaking through her voice. Gellert shrugged. He didn’t know, but he imagined thousands had been lost to time. He knew that once, magic and religion had been intertwined, muggles and wixen alike involved in rituals and ceremonies with incredible frequency.

‘Hundreds - they did rituals for everything. Fertility, birth, death, hunting, planting, passing judgement...’ She flicked through the sheets of parchment, reading off the headings to him as she went.

‘We still have rituals for most of those.’ Gellert pointed out slightly defensively.

‘Sort of, but the ones we do now are much more general. They literally have different rituals to keep away different pests. See here, there’s one to keep away caterpillars, another to get rid of worms.’

‘We have pesticide potions that do that.’ Gellert pointed out and Hermione hummed thoughtfully.

‘You’re right.’ Hermione acknowledged. ‘But we still haven’t performed a death ritual for the Tunningers or for Herr Wach.’

‘No.’ Gellert acknowledged. ‘The ritual is usually performed by the heir, inside the family property. It is not a public affair, although there is usually a more muggle funeral afterwards...’ He trailed off.

‘Do you think it would help Berg? To perform a ritual for them?’ Hermione eventually asked hesitantly.

‘I don’t know. The adults might not like it, it’s not really traditional.’ He hedged nervously. Hermione hissed bitterly.

‘Who cares about tradition? Berg has lost his parents to his sister. It’s what helps him that matters.’ She spat furiously. Gellert snapped his hands into the air in surrender.

‘I agree. We can ask him and mother might agree if you’re the one to approach her.’ He backed down quickly. Hermione was nothing if not stubborn when she felt strongly about something and he had no desire to bear the brunt of her ire, particularly when he actually agreed with her.

Hermione’s passion faded as quickly as it had been raised, her magic settling back into a steady background warmth. The two children shuffled through the low entrance and emerged, blinking into the bright summer sunlight. Gellert pulled out his pocket watch, realising with some surprise that it was already afternoon.

They mounted quickly and silently, Gellert’s thoughts were still occupied by the idea of a death ritual for Berg’s family. His father had never received a death ritual, as his betrayal of their values had resulted in his expulsion from the family so Gellert only had very vague recollections of his grandmother’s death ritual. It had been a dark and somber affair, almost muggle really. He had no recollection of any real magic being used, or if it had been, he didn’t remember it being particularly powerful.

His mother would never agree to it, he was certain. She believed in tradition and she stuck to it firmly. His mother would never change the traditional death ceremony without serious consideration, even to an older tradition. He could already hear her telling them that the older rituals had been abandoned for a reason, that the current rituals had served them for generations. Perhaps, he considered, the ritual that Hermione had in mind had never reached Europe. His mother would never consider it... but they didn’t necessarily need her approval.


	60. McGonagall

The summer holidays set in in a series of long days spent lounging beneath the apple tree in her muggle backyard and practicing her Ogham and Futhark, paging through Gorlois grimmoires full of ancient rituals beneath the mighty cedars of Fort Stark with Mordred and swimming in the moat with her two magical brothers. After the stress and chaos of the failed revolution it was good to relax.

With the passing of days however, came something that Hermione had almost entirely forgotten about. There had been very little discussion of school and class work, perhaps because their little trio learned so much even without the assistance of a tutor, or because their matriarch wanted to give them the promised summer of relaxation.

She was at Sam’s house, playing on their family’s games console with his many brothers when the phone rang. Immediately, the baby woke and started screaming, Hermione’s car crashed into the wall of the racetrack and Sam casually reached over and plucked the phone from it’s cradle. A moment later he held it out to her and she exchanged it for her remote wordlessly.

‘Hermione?’ Her mother asked, sounding somewhat muffled. ‘Could you come home? There’s someone here to see you.’

The young witch agreed quickly, confused by the unusual turn of events. Gathering her shoe and bag she left her “boyfriend” playing with his brothers and walked as quickly as the sweltering heat allowed back to her house. There was no car in the driveway, but she could hear voices drifting through the open window. Their visitor was a woman, Scottish certainly by the accent and, most importantly, Hermione heard her say the word “Hogwarts.”

Suddenly brimming with excitement she unlocked the door and practically skipped inside, turned into the living room and caught her first sight of a 20th century witch. She was seated primly on one of the comfortable floral couches, dressed in a long emerald cloak with a neckline that even Lady Grindelwald would call severe. Her hair was grey and swept into a tight bun and a delicate pair of golden spectacles rested on her sharp nose.

‘Hermione, darling. This is professor McGonagall.’ Her mother gestured to the witch and Hermione resisted the urge to curtesy. Until she knew this woman’s station, she was determined not to make such a deferential move.

‘Good morning, Professor.’ Hermione greeted politely. McGonagall nodded, watching her with a strange intensity. Hermione glanced at her parents, noticing that they were very pale and that her father had a thick, parchment envelope clutched in his hand. She could guess that the revelation of her magical abilities had already been made. Hermione smoothly made her way to the wooden chair beside her parents and sat with all the elegance instilled in her by Lady Grindelwald’s training.

‘Are you, perhaps, from Hogwarts?’ Hermione asked. A dumbstruck silence met her words.

‘How do you know about that?’ Her father finally spluttered, ‘Professor McGonagall only just told us that this school existed and that you have... magic.’

Hermione crossed her hands deliberately on her lap, wind she hadn’t already realised that she’d have to explain her relationship to the Grindelwald family eventually.

‘Katerina Grindelwald, from Germany?’ She looked to her parents, confirming that they remembered the name, ‘She is a witch. It didn’t take long for them to realise that I was as well.’

‘I knew I recognised the name!’ Her father declared triumphantly, brandishing the letter in her direction. Hermione’s quick eyes caught a flash of the name it was addressed to; Miss Hermione Granger of Gorlois, Ward of House Grindelwald.

‘I was told that in the magical world, I needed a magical guardian to stand in for me, as unfortunately non-magical parents have no real legal standing. She kindly agreed to fill the position.’ Hermione explained, noticing the professor’s brows drawing together as she spoke.

‘And the other name? Gorlois?’ Her mother demanded.

‘They did a spell to follow my ancestry back until we found a magical ancestor. Lady Grindelwald suggested I take up the name because it would make my life easier if I wasn’t the first in my family to have magic.’ Hermione’s parents shared a look, and the young witch waited patiently for their judgement to be meted out.

‘This all sounds rather serious, Hermione. We understand why you felt like you couldn’t tell us at the time, but we expect to be kept update from now on!’ Her mother eventually said sternly.

‘This is serious, not to mention highly irregular.’ Professor McGonagall added. ‘The Grindelwald name carries a heavy burden.’

‘I understand.’ Hermione said firmly. McGonagall pursed her lips but made no further objections.

‘Very well.’ The witch straightened and gestured for Hermione to open her letter. She did so, breaking the seal and pulling out two sheets of parchment. The first was a booklist; she recognised none of the titles, but one was written by Bathilda Bagshot whom she knew to be Lady Grindelwald’s sister-in-law. In contrast to Gellert, she would not need a staff and her uniform sounded rather drab and black, but otherwise the lists were rather similar. She skimmed through the second page quickly - that was the actual letter, but was unremarkable other than the list of accolades following the headmaster’s name. How on earth did he manage to hold down all of those positions at once?

She passed the letter to her parents to read, and McGonagall waited until they had finished before speaking again.

‘You will find all of this may be purchased in the secret wizarding district of Diagon Alley. I would greatly appreciate it if we could visit today; I have many students to visit this week.’

Her parents shared a look, then shrugged.

‘We may as well. Will the shops be open on a Saturday?’ Her father asked. McGonagall nodded and they all stood.

‘I shall meet you at this address at two.’ Professor McGonagall produced a slip of parchment from her voluminous sleeves and handed it to her father. He read it with raised eyebrows, then nodded and passed it to her mother, leading McGonagall from the room.

They had to leave almost immediately to reach the address in time. Hermione changed quickly into more appropriate clothing; a summer dress that fell just below her knees and a pair of ribbons to go in her hair. Clutching both ribbons and hairbrush, she met her parents by the car and they all clambered in.

‘We’ll have to withdraw your scholarship to St. Mary’s.’ Hermione’s mother commented vaguely as they pulled onto the motorway. The trip had passed mostly in silence up until then with Hermione braiding her hair and her mother focusing on the map.

‘I’ve heard Hogwarts is one of the best schools in the world.’ The young witch mentioned. Her mother had been overjoyed when Hermione had received a scholarship to the exclusive boarding school, and had shared the news with every single one of their neighbours. Hermione was ready to bet she was rather upset that Hermione wouldn’t be attending anymore.

‘Really? I don’t suppose you’ll get O-levels in wand waving and potion making?’ Her father asked, looking back at her in the rear view mirror. He sounded sceptical, like he half believed that this was just some massive practical joke.

‘It’s GCSEs now, dad, but I think they call them OWLs in wizard school.’ Hermione replied quickly.

‘So? What subjects will you learn?’ Her father pressed and Hermione hesitated. She knew what Hogwarts didn’t teach because everyone in Germany was always talking about it, but she didn’t know what they did teach to fill the gaps.

‘Well, Gellert goes to Durmstrang, he learns basic spellcasting, duelling, magizoology, potions, ancient magic and ethics and there’s loads of electives for him to choose from next year.’ She began, unfolding her booklist again, ‘I think they don’t learn duelling at Hogwarts, but we must have some kind of magical history lessons - that one’s definitely a history book and herbology, there’s one here about plants...’ she trailed off, still looking at the letter.

‘There must be broomstick flying too, or they wouldn’t specifically ban it in first year.’ Her mother added, turning to take the letter off Hermione. ‘Look, there’s one here for changing things, thats what transfiguration means? It certainly sounds like it does.’

Speculation over her lessons changed to discussions over pets - Hermione was adamant that she would need an owl to send post. Her parents were more than a little sceptical, and eventually compromised by agreeing to check whether McGonagall said that she needed one. Then they discussed her uniform, and wondered what exactly she was meant to wear underneath it - miniskirts and fishnets, like a fancy dress witch, or floor length dresses like McGonagall. Hermione just smiled and described the Durmstrang girl’s uniform, which consisted of a red skirt, brown shirt and fur cloak.

They had to park a reasonable distance away from the address McGonagall had given them, and they bought ice creams as they walked, eating quickly as the summer sun did it’s best to melt the cold treats. The witch had changed since they last saw her, and she was now dressed in a long tartan skirt and black shirt, which looked unusually heavy for the warm weather, but certainly drew less stares than the cloak would have. She was standing with a snooty looking family in business suits, a boy with dark, curly brown hair bounced excitedly on his heels as they hurried over.

The two families introduced themselves to each other, and Hermione learned that the boy was called Justin, and had had his name down for Eton. His father was as eager as hers but his mother was awfully reluctant to let him attend, and she kept casting worried looks over at him. He was an eager, exuberant boy and Hermione found him almost jarring after the refined intelligence of the boys she regularly surrounded herself with. As such, she was rather quiet as Justin talked at her. They walked a little further down the street, then McGonagall pointed out a dingy looking pub. All four parents were baffled as they were led by their confident wixen children into what apparently, according to Justin’s mother, an empty shop.

They emerged into a welcoming bar; it was worn but not grubby and the furnishings lent themselves to darkness as if to spite the whitewashed walls and large skylight. The end result was somewhere that was an odd contrast of brightly lit tables and dark corners. The patrons were mostly of wixen, but there was one man, huddled in a cloak in the back corner who might have been a vampire.

Tom, the barkeeper, greeted them all cheerily and promised that they’d always be able to get a good meal after shopping in his pub - Hermione looked dubiously as the filthy rag he’d just been using to clean the glasses and decided that there were certainly other places she’d rather eat.

Then they all crammed into the back, pressing up against the stinking rubbish bins as McGonagallpulled out her wand and started tapping bricks in a seemingly random order. With a grating, clinking noise, the bricks reshuffled, twisting and sliding before their awestruck faces to form an archway into a bustling street.

It was everything and nothing like the Unterhalb at the same time - it was bright, the street was narrow and crowded with wares spilling out to hinder the already congested alleyway. There were no aurors patrolling the streets and nothing like the disparity in wealth that stained the German magical centre.

‘Welcome to Diagon Alley.’ Professor McGonagall announced, spreading her arms wide as she led them into the bustling crowd. ‘Our first stop will be Gringotts; the wizarding bank.’

With that, they merged with the crowd, fighting after McGonagall with her distinctively severe bun and tall stature.

Fashion had changed, and certainly not in a bad way. The women in the crowd wore long, flowing robes, which was a departure from the outdated, but still essentially muggle clothing that her friends in the 19th century favoured. There were no stupid bustles, crinolines or petticoats. In fact, Anneken would fit perfectly into this modern fashion; so perfectly that it could have been based off her. The men wore similar cloaks, like someone had taken Gellert’s usual jacket and crossed it with Elrond.

They arrived at Gringotts, a towering building of white marble that soared above the leaning shop fronts that lead up to it. The crowd thinned suddenly, splitting down two alleys either side of the bank whilst a steady stream of people hurried up the staircase and through polished doors. The two families followed McGonagall up the staircase, passing between pairs of creatures in uniforms.

The bank was huge, packed with families conducting business with rows of goblins perched on tall benches. In a display of wealth, the massive floor consisted of a single slab of polished marble and a massive crystal chandelier hung so low that it almost brushed the pointed hat of the tall, blond wizard that stood beneath it. At the far end of the room was a set of massive golden doors, thrown open to allow the distant sound of rattling carts and screams to form a steady undertone to the clinking of coins and gemstones. Hermione wandered over to one of the guards whilst her parents exchanged money, took a deep breath, then said one of the phrases she was beginning to learn in gobbledegook.

The goblin grinned savagely and bowed to her, replying in kind. She then introduced herself, using her two family names and earning an even deeper bow - although she didn’t know which name earned it.

‘We have heard of your coming, High Priestess, many years ago. King Ragnuk the Seventh would speak with you, at your earliest convenience.’ The guard informed her, switching back to English as Hermione stumbled over the tricky language. At least, she thought, her efforts had been appreciated.

‘I am still barely a witchling, but Ragnuk is welcome to owl me.’ She told the goblin. It bared its teeth in the approximation of a smile.

‘I was a gobbelet when magic cried of your coming and the ancient powers of Gorlois awoke from their slumber. Our nation will rejoice to hear that you have agreed to speak with us.’

The goblin bowed to her again, and she bowed back. Then, before the adults could notice that she was missing, she hurried back over to their group. The money had been exchanged, and they headed for clothes shop as McGonagall explained how sickles, knuts and galleons exchanged.

They went to a shop called Madam Malkins. It was nothing special; there were a couple of dress robes on display and an equally small selection of everyday robes. There was, she noted, some variation in the black school robes on display. There were different fabric qualities, cuts and styles even if they all looked identical at a distance. Each one had the Hogwarts crest on the right breast and the skirts and ties were all trimmed in deep purple. Hermione stood on a stool as she was fitted with a floorlength black robe and cloak, then she had to pick out shirts and knee length skirts, knitted jumpers and a very plain, brimless pointed hat. None of it was particularly exciting and she decided immediately that she preferred the Durmstrang uniform. She could see a single rack of it near the back of the shop, and she looked over it quickly. The girl’s skirts were different now; short red where they had previously been floorlength and the half-cloak seemed to have been exchanged red for brown as well. She picked out two sets of casual robes to wear over the weekends, one in dark blue and one in misty grey because, despite McGonagall’s assurances that she’d fit in even in muggle clothes, Hermione knew the power of appearance.

The next stop was the apothecary and here, Hermione insisted she be allowed the time to pick only the best of the beginner potions ingredients on offer. Justin’s father agreed with her with considerable bluster, although he was less keen to look too closely at toad spleens and hippogriff dung to actually do the selecting. With Justin and her father’s help, and under the approving eye of the shopkeeper, Hermione selected their potion’s ingredients. She wondered if it was an intentional thing, to carry such a terrible standard stock so that all but the fussiest and best potion makers would find pre-made potions better. She could see the price tags on some of the bottles from where she chose her spider legs and she marvelled that anyone would buy a single dose of calming draught for (and here she ran a quick conversion in her head) 7 Hodd.

Then came the bookshop, which was even more glorious than the ones in the Unterhalb because almost all of the texts were in her language. Professor McGonagall was only too happy to point out some good volumes to get her up to date with British wizarding history and two more that would make good additional reading. She let her parents pick out her textbooks whilst she browsed the other volumes, eventually coming upon a very familiar title; “Hogwarts: A History”, the book that had been gifted to her on her first Yule with Gellert. Her copy was a first edition, hand bound and printed on thick parchment and signed by Bathilda Bagshot herself. It was nothing like this slim, duplicated version of the book. She brushed her finger down the spine, then skipped on to the next book on the shelf; “Salazar Slytherin: Mastermind and master fiend.” She opened it up, discovering a comprehensive biography of Slytherin’s research and added that to her pile instead.

Finally, they moved on to wands. Hermione trailed behind everyone, unwilling to admit that she already had a wand. How would she explain such a personal item as something sent through the mail. It was highly likely that the wandmaker wouldn’t recognise just how customised her particular wand was.

When Hermione had gotten her wand, it had been a custom made one. She’d visited Gregorovitch’s workshop, rather than the shop where he sold premade wands to the general public. It was much darker in this shop, and shelves were laden with long, thin cardboard boxes, all covered in a thick layer of dust. An ancient man with Einstein-like wispy hair sat at the desk, scratching at a ledger with a long, pale quill. He looked up when they entered, standing with surprising smoothness and lifting a coiled silver tape measure from his desk.

‘Two more for Hogwarts, Minerva?’ The wandmaker asked, peering at them.

‘Only one more group after this one, Garrick.’ The teacher assured him. ‘This is Hermione Granger, and Justin Finch-Fletchley.’

Hermione remained silent as her measurements were taken, then the same ones were taken for Justin. As the measurements were taken as Ollivander pulled boxes from the shelves. She allowed Justin to try his first. It was a destructive process, and fascinating to watch from a magical point of view. The wand was a distinct magical object, buzzing with life and when Justin waved it, it lit up with magical power only to violently misdirect, sending shelves exploding and lights smashing. Ollivander cheerfully repaired each incident until eventually, Justin stumbled across the right one. Immediately, Hermione could see why having a custom made wand was better. The magic worked through the wand Justin now held, but it certainly didn’t flow in quite the same way as it did through her own. It felt jerky and awkward - perhaps if they kept at it, Justin might even come across a better suited one, but nobody seemed to even notice. They all applauded and Justin’s father grinned proudly, clapping his son firmly on the back.

So, Hermione took his place, apprehension heavy in her chest. She selected the first wand from the pile, knowing immediately that it was wrong but unable to figure out how to make it demonstrate how wrong it was. Should she try to make it blow something up?

She was relieved when Ollivander snatched the wand out of her hand, muttering and shoved the next one at her. Like before, her magic didn’t connect and Ollivander snatched it away with a grumble. She went though the entire pile of wands without even a spark, her own wand feeling like it was burning a hole in the bag slung across her body. Ollivander seemed baffled and her parents were sharing concerned looks.

‘Mr Ollivander?’ She finally asked quietly. Silver eyes snapped up to meet hers. ‘I think I can feel something, like its calling to me from the back somewhere.’ She lied. Ollivander gazed at her suspiciously, then nodded sharply, beckoning her to follow.

Within seconds they were deep within the gloomy shelves at the back of the shop, a strangely artificial silence deadening their footsteps.

‘Now, what is it you wish to tell me Miss Granger?’ Ollivander finally asked, perhaps judging that they were out of earshot. Without a moment of hesitation Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out her wand. ‘Ah, I see. A Gregorovitch custom creation if I’m not mistaken. Vine wood, unusual colour certainly and not a design I would have chosen, not one of the cores I usually use either, but dragon heartstring certainly.’

‘Nidhogg.’ Hermione supplied.

‘Curious, very curious. Are you aware that the last recorded sighting of a Nidhogg was in 1920? Their parts became unobtainable decades ago.’

‘Oh.’ Hermione replied stupidly. That was rather hard to explain.

‘My father told me of a time when there was a great awakening of ancient magic, about a century ago. He spoke of fire and wind, light and heat. If I were to give that description life, I would say that you are the one he spoke of.’ Ollivander held up a hand quickly to stop her speaking. ‘It is not my place to know; when ancient magic stirs, strange and mysterious things happen. Yours will be a most interesting career, I am certain.’

Without any further words, Ollivander plucked a particularly dusty box from the shelf and emptied the wand out of it, nestling her own in it’s place. She trailed him back the front of the shop, playing along as he presented her wand to her with great ceremony. She flicked it, the wood feeling warm beneath her fingers and gold sparks fountained from the top. Ollivander gave some spiel to her parents, imparting knowledge that seemed a little pointless about the characteristics of her wand - it was hers, who cared how swishy or long it was?

Finally they left the wand shop and McGonagall lost herself several points in Hermione’s standings when she told Hermione’s parents that she probably didn’t need an owl in her first year and to perhaps reconsider next year. Still grumpy, Hermione trailed their group around the wizarding equipment shop as they bought the rest of the equipment on her list.

When she got home, she opened her purchases, pulling out the first of the history books. She opened it to the index and ran her fingers down the page until she reached a Grindelwald, Gellert. There was a list of pages several inches long that held reference to him and it was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that she turned to the first.

Five minutes later, she felt like she was about to be sick.

There had to be something wrong, she was certain of it. Gellert was none of these things, he couldn’t possibly commit the acts detailed in these pages! He was kind and wonderful with a deep respect for life and magic, he didn’t love muggles but he certainly didn’t mean to kill them. He spoke of equality and helping them, not subjugating them.

Her Gellert was the furthest thing from this horrible dark wizard, the man who had terrorised millions, killed hundreds and jeopardised their entire society and way of life. There was some mistake, some case of mistaken identity. And where was she in this? Was she dead, was she no longer visiting? Where were Berg and Anneken? Why was neither name mentioned and what had happened to his mother? Lady Grindelwald would never have stood for any of the events in the book. Confused and afraid, Hermione took a long time to fall asleep, the book clutched in her arms.


	61. Future

Gellert had expected Hermione to meet him to go for a ride that morning, so he ended up waiting for two hours in the stables. He saddled both beasts and packed the lunch he’d been given by the elves into Kelpies saddlebags, then he combed Kelpie’s mane and tail, polished Katana’s scales and even inspected Kelpie’s fangs for abscesses. By the time he’d recovered from that particular job and he’d fed Kelpie enough treats to be forgiven, he was beginning to grow concerned.

He left the beasts and headed up to Hermione’s rooms; perhaps she had yet to arrive for some reason. His concern only grew when he found her rooms empty, and the clothes that had been laid out for her gone. That meant Hermione had arrived, but for some reason had skipped their lunch date without even deigning to tell him.

Finally, he called for his elf and Suds informed him that Hermione was in a meeting with his mother and had been for three hours - whatever it was, it was serious. Had something happened in the muggle world?

He sent Suds to settle the beasts back into their stalls and went to find Berg. The younger boy might know something he didn’t.

Berg was doing homework under their favourite tree but his face was marred by a frown that didn’t match the complexity of their assignments.

‘What’s happening?’ Gellert demanded as soon as he was within hearing distance. Berg’s head snapped up and he jumped up, abandoning his parchment to flutter away in the wind.

‘I thought you’d know.’ The other boy exclaimed. Gellert shook his head.

‘All I know is that Hermione’s been in a meeting with mother for the whole morning.’ He said, kneeling his lip between his teeth in a habit that he’d picked up from his young partner.

‘She ran past me at about eight this morning, in tears.’ Berg told him sombrely. The stone in Gellert’s stomach grew heavier.

‘Something must be really wrong.’ Both boys shared a look, one that very clearly said they thought there’d already been enough strife that year.

‘What should we do?’

‘Nothing.’ Berg decided. ‘We can’t do anything until we know what’s going on.’

So they settled into a tense silence. The day had been warm, but now it seemed darker and colder. The sunlight could no longer reach them. Scenarios ran through Gellert’s head... then suddenly Berg broke the silence with an exclamation that made Gellert jump.

‘Hogwarts!’

‘What?’ Gellert demanded, turning to him incredulously.

‘Her Hogwarts letter. It was due any day now, perhaps something went wrong with it?’ Berg elaborated and suddenly the scenarios changed - had Hermione’s parents reacted badly? Had they tried to burn her? Drown her? Every single one of the stories he’d heard as a child about the dangers of muggles flashed through his mind.

A moment later he found himself at the door to his mother’s room, knocking frantically, Berg a half-step behind him. His mother’s ‘Herein’ sounded different, shaken and unsettled. Both boys burst in, then froze.

He saw Hermione first, tears stealing down her red, puffy cheeks and hair flying around her head in a chaotic image of devastation. It was her eyes that scared him the most, filled with fear and betrayal. He barely even noticed his mother as he crossed the room in four paces, pulling Hermione into a hug in the same way she had once done for him. He pulled her up, crushing her into his chest and burying his face into her crazy hair and muttering reassurances. The young witch’s silent weeping turned into tremulous, heart wrenching sobs but he held her tighter, determined to be as much as a comfort to her as she had been to him.

Eventually, Hermione stopped trying to pull away and huddled tighter into his now damp shirt, still sobbing. Her hands tangled in the loose, summery fabric and he lifted his face out of her hair to look at his mother.

She was still tucked beneath the neatly folded sheets, her legs not yet healed from their ordeal in the Battle of Blau Berg. In recent weeks she’d showed signs of improving, regaining her colour and fighting off the infection and weakness that was coming with burns that refused to heal magically. Now though, she was as white as her sheets and her shoulders were bowed beneath a weight that hadn’t bent them even when her home and castle was brought to the ground.

There was something in the way she watched them, in the way her eyes had glazed over slightly and her mouth trembled that frightened Gellert even more than Hermione’s uncontrollable tears. His mother was strong, untouchable, but now something - whatever had happened to Hermione - had finally brought her down.

He couldn’t bring himself to ask but at the same time he burned to know.

‘Whilst I appreciate your care for Hermione, Gellert, we were in the middle of a critical discussion.’ His mother finally interrupted as Hermione’s sobs faded to sniffles and hitching breath. He tightened his grip around the young witch resolutely, gazing stubbornly at his mother. She eventually sighed heavily, her shoulders somehow sliding even lower.

‘Please Gellert, I know that you care deeply for Hermione but this is a discussion that we must have alone.’

It was that that had him extricating himself from Hermione and leaving the room, stunned into silence by his mother’s uncharacteristic demeanour. He was almost in a daze as he left the room and was surprised when Berg snagged his arm and pulled him to a stop as soon as the door shut behind them. Pressing a finger to his lips, Berg then held his ear to the door. Shocked, Gellert almost protested, then he realised that he really did want to know what had both Hermione and his mother so upset. Cautiously, he copied the other boy.

‘What will happen has happened, Hermione. You know it is unavoidable, all you can do is your best to fix it.’ His mother sounded soothing.

‘Fix it?’ Hermione cried, ‘How? He’s in prison, forever!’ Berg and Gellert shared a look, wondering if this was Hogwarts related at all. Had something else happened to her family? That didn’t mesh with what his mother had said though, perhaps Hermione was a seer too? The memory of Hermione saying those exact words to him after his prophetic dream sprung to mind. ‘What if he’s different, how can I know him after he’s done so much? What if he really has become a terrible person?’

‘He has made his own bed.’ His mother snapped, sounding irritated. ‘We are Grindelwalds, and we must do what is best for our name, even if we must leave behind those whom we care for.’

‘But...’

‘Oh for Circe’s sake; the family comes first, the whole before the individual, for the greater good.’

‘But...’

‘You swore an oath last year, that you would bring honour to the name. Now, I demand that you fulfil it.’ Lady Grindelwald hissed. Gellert bit his lip, wondering if Hermione was about to learn for the first time what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his mother’s wrath. There was a moment of stifled sniffling then his mother’s voice softened. ‘It is hard Hermione, I know that more than anyone, but you are strong. Enjoy the time you have now, but the person you knew is dead. Mourn him, then let him go and focus on your duty. You have a duty to us, and a duty to the line of Gorlois.’

‘Duty.’ Hermione said dully.

‘Now, show me that letter, I wish to see what educational flaws I must rectify.’ Lady Grindelwald instructed. Berg tugged at Gellert’s sleeve and signalled down the corridor. Both boys snuck away to a far enough distance to talk without being overheard.

‘I think she’s a seer too, and she’s seen something.’ Gellert said quickly, ‘she said that same thing about what has happened will happen to me after my dream the other day.’

‘I don’t know how she knows, but it must be horrible.’

‘I think it happens to me.’ Gellert shared his fear after a moment of silence. ‘Either me or her father, but I think me.’

Berg nodded solemnly. ‘Should we ask her?’

‘No.’ Gellert decided quickly, ‘They’re right, what will happen must happen. Trying to change it won’t make a difference, and if it’s that terrible...’ He paused, bracing himself. ‘I think I’d rather not know. I hope I die doing something noble, and I might not be brave enough to do it if I know it will kill me.’

‘That’s brave.’ Berg pointed out and Gellert swallowed thickly.

‘I don’t know. But I don’t want to know. I’m going to make sure I make use of my life now though, who knows how long I’ll have.’

‘Definitely brave. I think I’d be catatonic by now if I were you.’

‘No you wouldn’t. You’re strong too, really strong. If I lost Hermione... or even my mother. I’d go mad. I’d want to kill everyone who took them from me.’

‘Yeah well,’ Berg shuffled awkwardly, his cheeks had gone very pale. ‘Turns out I still cared about Alice too much to kill her, even if she killed my parents.’

Gellert shook his head, trying to imagine what he’d do if Hermione killed his mother, but he could barely wrap his head around the concept. Hermione was just too nice and good and he just wasn’t as close to his mother as Berg had been to his.

‘Hermione’s been looking into a ritual for your parents.’ He blurted suddenly, wanting to change the subject.

‘Huh?’ Was Berg’s confused reply.

‘She said her family have different rituals, she’s been looking for one to perform for your parents that we can do with... well, with things how they are.’

Berg blinked a couple of times, his mouth working.

‘But without the body... they cannot be interred into the family magic.’ He finally managed. ‘And Alice still holds the manor, so we can’t get to the family heart.’

‘Well, that’s what Hermione is working on. She thought you might like it.’ Gellert said sheepishly. They’d been meaning to keep it a secret until they knew their idea would work; the choice of rituals was extensive and achieved all sorts of different aims. Hermione wanted something that achieved the same effect as a modern death ritual, but didn’t require the bodies or the head of house.

‘I would, I mean, I just... I didn’t think it was possible. What about your mother?’

‘She won’t do anything until we have the body and the house ring. We asked her about it and she said every other ritual was dark magic.’

Berg bit his lip nervously. ‘I don’t want to do it if it’s dark magic.’

‘It’s not really. I mean, Mordred said dark magic is really just a cultural definition. In his day, magic was only dark if it broke an oath or harmed a king. In England now, they consider anything that uses human blood or hair to be dark magic.’

‘I guess, I mean, I think of dark magic as anything that hurts someone.’ Berg still sounded uncertain.

‘Well, this ritual wouldn’t be hurting anyone or we wouldn’t do it.’ Gellert said decisively.

The boys fell silent as the door opened at the end of the corridor and Hermione emerged. She had a determined set to her features despite the redness of her face and although she hesitated when she saw them, she quickly tossed her hair and gathered herself, striding confidently towards them.

Gellert saw right through the brittle facade but he decided not to comment. Hermione needed him to be strong for her, to help her hold herself together and he would do his best to be what she needed.


	62. Unsupervised

Chapter 62

Lady Grindelwald’s instructions hadn’t reassured her in the slightest and she found herself unable to stop searching Gellert’s every action for signs of what he would someday become. There were signs, of course, she watched with a deep seated unease as he easily convinced their peers that the soul ritual she chose to perform for Berg’s family wasn’t dark, even though it most certainly toed the line.

He was passionate, powerful and charismatic, all traits which he must have carried through to his darker persona. Yet he was so caring and supportive, standing by her without ever asking what had her so unsettled. He loved his beast and his mother and he shared powerful bonds of friendship with his peers, both muggleborn and pureblood.

So she eventually ended up doing what his mother had suggested. Clearly, something significant must happen in the future, something that changed him so fundamentally that he lost every one of his powerful morals and values. Until she knew what that event was, there was no sense in distancing herself from him over something that hadn’t even happened yet.

There was also, a small part of her that hoped that by being the best friend and companion she could possibly be, he wouldn’t follow the path he was set out to follow. Perhaps, just maybe, his mother was wrong.

The ritual for Berg’s family was set to take place at midnight on a full moon which conveniently occurred on a Sunday. Hermione had persuaded Atalanta to help them make appropriate clothing, modifying dresses and shirts so that they all wore black long black cloaks that covered their every feature with the appropriate protective embroidery along the hemlines. Anneken found the masks they would need from her family storerooms - bone white animal skulls with sharp, jagged planes. Gellert and Berg managed to obtain the necessary materials whilst the elves, believing the children were planning a midnight feast, provided the food.

At ten, the four of them snuck out of their rooms and retrieved the food that had been left out for them and saddled their beasts in silence. Anneken cast silencing spells on hooves and talons alike and they rode out like a host of wraiths. They were, Hermione decided, a terrifying ensemble. Bone masks gleamed in the moonlight, casting deep shadows in the empty eye sockets and hollow cheeks. Horns and antlers curled out of the shadow of deep cowls, hooked beaks and savage teeth gleamed darkly. Their hands were pale and ghostly on their reins and their mounts snorted and huffed in the silence of the charms.

They rode for an hour, passing just beyond the boundary of Lintzen property and into a dense thicket. Already, several mounts were tethered and Hermione instantly recognised the Hawdon twin’s sleipnir and Petrovna’s thestral along with two more that suggested the Russian witch had brought other children from her parent’s coven.

They tied up their mounts next to the others and continued on foot, cloaks rippling across the ground with whispers. It wasn’t long before they came across the much larger clearing that Anneken had promised they would find, already busy with activity.

She knew Atalanta by her height, far shorter than the others and wearing a dog’s skull beneath her scrappy cloak. The Hawdon twins were also unmistakable with the heavy hippogriff skulls that they’d insisted on wearing. She could hear Petrovna issuing instructions in Russian to a pair of tall, willowy children as they placed torches. All three Russians wore deer skulls, and two more children wore dogs - Jori and Veli, if she remembered correctly were classmates of Gellert at school.

There were older children too whom she didn’t recognise. Dominick Wach would be here somewhere, also mourning his father. Neele Fleiss probably hadn’t arrived yet as she would have been impossible to miss with her bouncy persona and although Petrovna had said her betrothed; Rowland Yaxley would be present, Hermione had only met him once or twice and couldn’t yet pick him by sight. Mareike too was probably running late as she had been planning to arrive with her older brother whom had yet to organise his mask and cloak last Hermione had heard. There was a huddle of other taller figures near where they’d decided to set out the altar, working as a team to resize a massive slab of stone. They were Anneken’s classmates, and Hermione had met none of them.

She set to work with Gellert and Berg quickly, laying out blankets on the grass near the edge of the clearing and loading them up with the feast. Other children of with elves added their own contributions until the blankets were weighed down with dishes of all kinds, dotted with unlit candelabra that had been temporarily pilfered form family estates where they wouldn’t be missed.

With the feast laid out, Hermione, Gellert and Berg crossed the clearing to the completed altar. A bright white chicken snoozed in a gilded owl cage, unaware of the fate that was about to befall it as the three of them laid out the athame, a series of white crystals and a bowl of crushed peppermint leaves. The sharp, fresh aroma drifted through the clearing as the last people arrived.

‘Did you bring Mordred?’ Berg confirmed, fidgeting nervously as he pulled out a pair of crystal chess pieces that he had decided would be the ritual vessel for his mother and father.

‘Of course she did.’ Mordred replied, shimmering into existence beside them. She could understand why they had made the mistake. With the voluminous cloak she wore, one could easily miss the shape of the sword strapped to her back. He too wore black, looking for the first time like the dark wizard he was said to be. He wore a dark cloak which fell in luxurious folds over his darkly gleaming armour. Black metal shoulder plates were worn over the cloak and a draconian mask covered his face. He leaned on a long, dark staff with a jagged crystal at the top.

‘Good, we’ve got everything right?’ Hermione watched as Gellert pulled out the list of ingredients.

‘I think so.’ Mordred eventually said after surveying the busy clearing.

The air was thick with nervous excitement and nobody could quite stand still as Hermione called them all together. Rows and rows of skulls stared up at her with empty eyes and Hermione resisted the urge to shiver. Berg stepped up beside her and a tall, slender figure that she assumed to be Dominick took her other side.

‘Good evening, everyone.’ Berg called. The excited muttering faded into the near silence of occasional shuffling. ‘We are here because the High Priestess of Gorlois has offered to assist us in performing the rites for three wixen who passed without trace.’

‘We shall summon their lost magical remains and inter them in three tokens, until such a time as they can be laid in their final resting place with the traditional rites.’ Dominick spoke in a deep voice with an almost Bulgarian accent.

‘Take your places.’ Hermione commanded. There was a great stirring of excited chatter as the gathered witchlings scattered across the clearing to take their designated spots, lighting rows of torches with their wands along the way. Before long the clearing glowed with flickering flames and those gathered took on a demonic appearance.

‘We remembered the muggle repelling charm, right?’ Berg muttered nervously to Anneken who stood behind him.

‘Yes.’ The older witch confirmed. ‘Now shut up.’

Silence fell as everyone reached their positions and Hermione looked out over the glowing clearing in front of them. From the slightly raised position stood on the altar, Hermione could see the image that had been marked out with torches. The five pointed star stretched out around them, someone seated at every intersection and angle between lines. Gellert had supervised the placement of everyone so that the denser intersections contained a more powerful wicca and the weaker or less experienced were out at the distant points of the star. Inside the pentagram was the summoning circle which surrounded the altar. Hermione stood inside a second circle, drawn in salt on the altar whilst Gellert, Berg, Dominick, Anneken and Mordred linked hands to surround her, facing outwards.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, then reached out with her magic. The family magic jumped to alertness, flowing up and through her along with her own. The difference between this and every other ritual she had taken part in quickly became apparent. She could feel the youth in their magic - a kind of sparkling energy that zipped around without the rigid control instilled during years of schooling.

Her family magic seemed unconcerned, taking that all in stride as it reached out along the lines, sending the flames of each torch roaring up past head height as it imbued them with magic. At each person it passed, the family magic swept their magic in along with hers. The slow procession continued around the circle, the seated children settling into an eerie stillness as their magic was guided into line. Some magics went willingly, others assisted her own and some fought, trying to create mischief. She felt Anneken’s magic wrapping smoothly around the silvery sparking bundle that was Neele, forcing it to follow the current whilst Berg’s walled off the errant winds of Mareike’s. It was hard work for those with experience, but before long Hermione had succeeded in imbuing the entire symbol.

‘Those who are lost, I call upon thee.’ She said, her voice ringing across the clearing, echoing with the voices of her Sect whose magic she channelled. ‘You are adrift, trapped in your mortal remains far from the seat of your descendants.’

‘Eleanor Eidel Tunninger, Daughter of Alice Manse, I call to you. Be released from the prison of your flesh and join us here. I offer to you this construct of stone.’

Her vision turned grey even as she heard the other members of the ritual chanting the name of Berg’s mother continuously. As she watched, a shimmering silver rope formed in front of her and she reached out with their joined magic and tugged on it. It resisted, heaving and writhing sharply as she reeled it in. Slowly, out of the greyness a figure formed, pulled by the silver rope which fused with her chest.

‘Hermione?’ The figure asked in surprise.

‘I offer to you this construct of stone.’ Hermione offered again, not daring to say anything but the ritual words. ‘That I may bear you forth to the family seat.’

‘Oh.’ The figure said, sounding surprised. It leaned forwards as if inspecting something at their feet. ‘I’ve never heard of this before. Fascinating. Well yes, I suppose, seeing as you’ve gone to all this trouble. Tell Berg I love him, and tell Alice I’d haunt her if I could.’

Hermione’s vision cleared abruptly as light shot out of the crystals that surrounded the crystal queen that Berg had chosen to host his mother’s magical remains. The beams focused through the crystals, the chess piece glowing brighter and brighter as the torches flared higher and higher around them.

Suddenly, abruptly, the light cut off. The afterimage faded from her eyesight as she blinked rapidly. The queen glowed with a soft, eerie light.

‘Did it work?’ Someone asked from the outskirts of the circle, suggesting that Hermione had been the only one privy to image of the rope and the conversation with Frau Tunninger.

‘Yes.’ Hermione answered. ‘That’s Lady Tunninger. Let us repeat the ritual for Herr Tunninger now.’

Berg quickly replaced the figurine inside the ring of crystals whilst everyone else lit the torches around them again. The calming influence of their shared magical purpose still affected them all, so it was in solemn silence and with considerably less fight that they formed the ritual a second time.

‘Those who are lost, I call upon thee.’ Hermione intoned again. ‘You are adrift, you are adrift, trapped in your mortal remains far from the seat of your descendants.’

‘Albert Herman Tunninger, Son of Wilhelm Tunninger, I call to you. Be released from the prison of your flesh and join us here. I offer to you this construct of stone.’

This time she was more aware of how precarious her position was. Her vision darkened as her magic and soul detached from the physical plane. She could feel the tether creates for her by the continuous chanting of those involved in the ritual, remembering Mordred’s instructions that she should always check for the tether before passing to another plane. Oops. Once more the glowing rope formed in front of her and she tugged on it. Herr Tunninger came much quicker than his wife, his much larger form glowing brighter than hers had.

‘Oh ho, Miss Granger. I bet Katerina doesn’t know about this.’ He spoke before Hermione had a chance to present her offer. She shook her head in reply and opened her mouth to speak the next line.

‘All children? My my, what a generation we have here. Berg too... he’s grown since I last saw him. Such a shame we had to go so soon.’

‘I offer to you this construct of stone.’ Hermione butted in when he paused between remarks. ‘That I may bear you forth to the family seat.’

‘Alright, alright.’ Herr Tunninger huffed. ‘Make sure you curse Alice for me - get her really good and send my love to Berg.’

Then he too was light, focused in the crystals before convalescing in the king.

‘We need to hurry. We’re almost through the witching hour.’ Mordred prompted as soon as the light faded. The wixen around him obediently relit their torches and readied themselves for the third time. There was a weariness to the magic this time; even though some like Anneken and Gellert still burned strong others who weren’t as gifted were beginning to flag.

This time, Hermione remembered to check her tether which had grown noticeably weaker. Nervous, she tugged quickly on the silvery rope and she called out her offer before the spirit had even had a chance to make an opening comment. Herr Wach seemed to notice her urgency because he said very little, merely sending his wishes to his son.

Not a moment too soon, Hermione blinked back up to the world of the living. Several around the circle were swaying and looking somewhat dazed and Gellert’s outstretched hands gleamed with sweat.

‘Thank Merlin!’ Dominick Wach heaved as soon as the light faded in the marble lion figurine he’d chosen for his father. ‘I thought we’d lose you there.’

‘Now, in honour of those who have departed, let us feast!’ Hermione declared. Exhaustion was rapidly replaced by jubilation as they all made their way over to the blankets spread across the grass where they’d laid out food. Bone masks were shrugged off quickly and cast aside revealing flushed, excited faces. A warm swell of pride and achievement swept through the clearing as the three figurines were given pride of place at the head of the table.

Brought up by the aristocracy, most of the children sat and waited in silence without touching the food for the host’s speech. Those who did not yet know otherwise hesitated and returned food to their plates.

Berg stood up first, telling them all that they may as well tuck in whilst he spoke because they’d all earned their dinner. This earned a round of applause and he paused to let everyone grab something to eat. When attention was returned to him, Berg thanked the all for coming. He then launched into a quick eulogy for his parents. Hermione followed him by standing and telling a quick story of how Herr Tunninger had whispered tips to her in her first harvest horse race, then Gellert stood on her left to tell everyone how as a child, he’d been taught to properly tie his tie by Herr Tunninger. Around the circle, everyone stood to tell a story about one of Berg’s parents, then Berg stood and announced that they would be missed. The same followed for Dominick and Herr Wach. This was part of the more traditional funeral celebration but Hermione had thought it would be important to both boys, so they’d amalgamated it into their feast.

With that done, they tucked in to the feast. It was a chaotic meal with a mad mixture of desserts, sandwiches, snacks and fancy little aperitifs that Hermione was certain contained caviar. She wonder who on earth had brought them. They all enjoyed it never-the-less and after the meal they played silly games - hide and seek, ball and something called jinx-a-tail where they ran around trying to curse each other with tails.

Two hours later, Anneken reminded them that they all needed to head home before anyone realised they were missing. They got together one last time, Gellert reminding them all to keep the night and their ritual a secret, then they all split up to head home on their various mounts. Anneken’s friends were apparating those without mounts and within moments it was just Berg, Gellert, Anneken, Mordred and Hermione left.

‘We did it.’ Hermione commented as Mordred gave her a leg up onto Katana’s back.

‘Yes. Thank you, everyone.’ Berg agreed.

‘Shh, or they’ll hear us.’ Anneken hissed, ‘and take off those masks, I’ll shrink them down so that if we get caught we can just say we were having our midnight feast in the woods.’

They did get caught, and they all got assigned housework as punishment. Their ritual however remained a secret.


	63. Whacking

Hermione spent the remainder of summer studying furiously in preparation for attending Hogwarts. Gellert and Berg had joined her; guilted into action by her diligence. Both boys would be taking runes next term and when compared with Hermione, they both felt rather inadequate. Hermione, of course, was very good at Ogham and as if to spite them had written all of her notes in the difficult runic language.

Mordred would often join them, lounging in the sunlight and helping them with their Futhark and basic symbolism for their new ritual classes.

It was during one of those long, lazy afternoons that he finally had an opportunity to speak to Mordred alone. Hermione and Berg had gone for a dip in the moat but Gellert was still half way through one of the divination mediation he had learned, meant to make him more able to control what he saw in the little sticks he was trying to divine with.

When he opened his eyes several minutes later, roused by Hermione’s shrieks, he was alone with the knight. Berg was throwing lily pads at Hermione and the young witch was trying to fend them off with blasts of conjured water.

‘Gorlois thinks we should whack each other with a sword.’ Gellert said idly, tossing a stick in the vague direction of the moat. Unsurprisingly, it fell short so he flicked his hand and magically sent it the rest of the way into the water.

‘Gorlois believed everything can be solved by whacking it with a sword, but that didn’t help when his wife slept with a muggle.’

‘Merlin, is she still alive too?’ Gellert said with a wince. Mordred winced as well.

‘Yes, they all are. Four generations before him and two after me. Could you please use something other than “Merlin”?’

Gellert shrugged, not particularly bothered and too busy trying to work out how many wixen that meant per generation, judging by the hundred or so souls he’d seen on his visit to the barrows. He was about to ask more questions, then he paused and reconsidered. It would likely be a long time before he had a chance to speak with Mordred alone again and for Hermione’s sake he really needed to settle their differences, whether by talking or whacking each other with swords.

‘What he said made sense though, about not bottling it all up.’ Gellert continued. Like he had moments before, Mordred also picked up a stick and chucked it towards the moat. With his longer reach it fell closer but the knight didn’t bother to send it the rest of the way. Instead he chucked another stick at it, which fell within a couple of inches.

‘I think he’s wrong about that too.’

‘Me too.’ Gellert agreed carefully after a moment of thought. ‘I mean, I think you can go evil without bottling it up; I think power is addictive, and its power that makes people do terrible things. Not bottled up dislike.’

‘Wixen do terrible things for anger too, but it doesn’t need to be bottled up first. I think keeping it all inside just means you get along with someone longer than you would have otherwise.’ Mordred agreed.

‘I don’t think this is what Gorlois was aiming at though.’ Gellert complained a moment later. The whole thing felt like a waste of time, even though the philosophy of their debate could perhaps be interesting he really didn’t want to talk about light and darkness with the dark knight. He was already confused enough about it himself without adding the twisted morals of a maybe-dark-wizard into the mess.

‘No. Gorlois wanted me to confess my deepest, darkest secrets to you, and you to do the same to me.’ Mordred chucked a third stick with slightly more force and it ricocheted off the first, landing within reach of Gellert. He picked it up and tossed it back.

‘I want Hermione to be happy.’

‘And you want her to marry you.’ Mordred pointed out. Gellert shrugged, unable to deny it.

‘She would make a wonderful match, but it can’t happen.’

‘She can make it happen if she wants it enough. Age, wealth, allegiance, oaths and kingdoms are no obstacle to a High Priestess.’ The dark wizard summoned all the sticks back to him and started tossing them toward the water again. Gellert’s eyes followed each steady arc.

‘Hermione wants a brother, not a husband.’ Gellert pointed out, ‘I will be whatever she requests of me.’

‘She is eleven and I believe betrothal isn’t even discussed among her people until well after they come of age.’

‘What?’ Gellert exclaimed, bolting upright.

‘I know. It’s bizarre, especially when you think about how short muggle’s lives are.’

‘You mean in her culture, she wouldn’t be thinking about matches for years yet?’ He confirmed, hope blooming in his chest. Perhaps, the reason Hermione had been so unreceptive to his initial suit was because she found it offensive to even be considered as a match yet. So, he plotted, he would woo her slowly until they came of age, then by the time she was old enough to consider marriage, he would be the obvious choice. He wouldn’t mention anything about marriage of the future around her, except perhaps for her coven. Hermione still seemed set on creating a coven even though she already had a sect.

‘What about you? Do you want to be her brother or her mentor?’ Gellert eventually challenged.

‘Hermione has many brothers, and many mentors. Her court is extensive and complex.’ Mordred eventually said, after tossing several more sticks. Berg and Hermione had stopped fighting now and Hermione was floating on her back, an action which neither Berg nor Gellert had managed to imitate. ‘I believe that despite being descended from Morgause, she has more in common with Morgana.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My aunt, Morgana, always ruled alone. She had no physical kingdom, but she had more followers and influence than any king. Her court was powerful, influential but solely hers, she certainly did not share it with her husband, Urien of Gorre, nor with Accolon before he died.’

‘You don’t think Hermione will have anyone in her confidences?’ Gellert confirmed.

‘Morgana had four whom she trusted; Accolon, I believe she wished to marry, but he died before they could. Nimue, who finally defeated Merlin and her mentor, Argant. Finvarra...’ Mordred shuddered and let the unfamiliar name trail off.

‘So you, me, Berg and Anneken.’ Gellert concluded. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Mordred’s assessment of the situation. His words rang true, and he could easily picture Hermione’s “court”, but the young wizard was still disappointed. He didn’t want to share Hermione with anyone.

‘Finvarra will make himself known eventually and I imagine she will meet friends at Hogwarts as well.’

Jealousy spiked and Gellert forced it down.

‘So you’re content to just be in her court?’ He challenged, disbelieving.

‘Of course. It is the breadth of Hermione’s court that will give it it’s power and allows her dominion over various factions. If we tarry around with infighting and jealousy, we hinder not only ourselves but the court as a whole.’

That was all very well, Gellert though, but it was significantly more difficult to just dismiss his feelings than it was to talk about.

‘Want to whack each other with swords?’ He suggested eventually. Mordred laughed and a moment later they were swinging wildly at each other with conjured canes. Hermione spotted them and, dripping with moat water and still dressed in her outrageous men’s shorts, jumped out to join them. Berg, not as physically inclined, stood in the sidelines and cheered them all on.

He didn’t know about Mordred, but Gellert felt significantly better about the whole situation when, hot and sweaty, he jumped fully clothed into the moat an hour later. He resolved to trust Gorlois advice - fighting certainly did help to resolve a problem.


	64. Express

The day that Hermione would leave for Hogwarts brought with it powerful, mixed feelings. She knew that the impressions she made on the train would stay with her for the rest of her life in the modern wizarding world.

She arrived exactly fifteen minutes before the train was due to depart, bidding her parents farewell before the stone barrier that separated the two worlds. Already, she could see wixen arriving; most had made the effort to at least pretend to be muggles, even if the sudden concentration of old fashioned suits, massive trunks and owl cages was a dead giveaway. Others hadn’t even bothered with the attempt. A huddle of women swept past in long, floor length robes complete with hats as a pair of pretty young girls trailed behind them, looking around as if expecting a muggle to jump out with a pitchfork.

‘Comic-con must be on this week. I’m surprised Eddy isn’t out.’ One muggle said to her husband as they pushed their way past the unrepentantly dressed witches.

‘Pretty dedicated bunch, those ones. I thought I saw an owl.’ Her husband said in reply.

A friendly looking boy, perhaps in one of the older years offered to help her through the barrier and onto the train with her trunk, so she said goodbye to her parents quickly and followed him into the wizarding world.

The Hogwarts Express was a scarlet steam train which, Hermione knew, had been obtained in the biggest memory modification operation to date. Knowing that even Berg would consider that a dry fact, she refrained from mentioning it. Instead, she asked about the glittering badge on her guide’s chest and learned that he was the head boy and was in Hufflepuff.

She took a carriage on her own, deciding to let people come to her, and pulled out her notes on wizarding genealogy, attempting to put family names to faces as she watched wixen gather on the platform. The Malfoy family were unmistakable, silver-blond hair being their defining characteristic. They had a son who was already dressed in his plain black robes which suggested he was a first year like her. He was already talking to a small, pug-faced girl and two large, stupid looking boys loomed behind him, shadowed by their equally large and looming fathers. Right before the train left, a frantic red-headed family arrived with a crowd of children in shabby clothes. Hermione assumed that these were either Prewetts or Weasleys, families that were notoriously closely intertwined and always produced lots of children.

She was joined in her compartment by a tubby boy who introduced himself as Neville, leaving off any family names. Hermione did the same, but made sure to flash her family ring a couple of times. The boy eyed it warily, which she assumed meant that he recognised it and eventually she noticed that he wore an heir’s ring around his neck on a chain.

Neville was quietly knowledgable, she learned. He was not academically brilliant, not did he seem particularly powerful but he had a deep knowledge of natural magic and herbology. Like Berg, his magic was warm and earthy and Hermione just knew that he had a steady bravery and patience that would make him a dependable wizard some day.

They had the compartment mostly to themselves as the countryside grew wilder outside the windows. There was a fair amount of racket in the corridor as older students reunited with their friends but neither first year paid much attention to it as Hermione listened to Neville talking about the greenhouse his nan let him look after at home. Eventually, he realised that his toad had somehow escaped, despite the door being closed and they set off to try and find it.

Hermione allowed Neville to do most of the work, hovering behind him and assessing each compartment of students whose door they knocked on. Whilst she’d read about the houses before, she took the opportunity now to form her own impressions; the Ravenclaws seemed rather aloof, like pale imitations of Lady Grindelwald whilst the Gryffindors were a boisterous bunch, reminding her strongly of Herr Lintzen. The Slytherins were a mean bunch, sneering at them both and being decidedly unhelpful, but Hermione knew that they carried among their number almost all of the old and influential families. She would have to brave their sneers at some point if she planned to get anywhere in the magical world.

Finally, they came across a carriage of their own year group. It was the group from the platform; Malfoy, his two cronies and the snooty girl. They’d been joined by a thin, unattractive boy and one of the willowy girls that had followed the witches Hermione had seen on the muggle platform

‘Longbottom. You’ve found yourself a girlfriend.’ Malfoy sneered as soon as the door slid open.

‘Malfoy.’ Neville acknowledged, a tremor in his voice. ‘This is Hermione, Hermione, this is Draco Malfoy.’

‘Hermione who?’ Pug-girl demanded. Neville’s face went blank and he looked back at Hermione.

‘Hermione of Gorlois.’ Hermione stepped forwards smoothly, introducing herself.

‘Mudblood.’ Malfoy said dismissively. His cronies laughed.

‘I am not.’ Hermione hissed. Whilst she saw nothing wrong with new bloods, she knew that she at least needed to make her status clear. With the British prejudice she’d never get anywhere otherwise.

‘Of course not.’ The girl giggled, ‘she’s an “of Gorlois”!’ The louts guffawed loudly and Malfoy snickered. Hermione drew herself up angrily.

‘You know nothing. My line was old whilst yours was still scrabbling in the dirt with the chickens.’

‘Oh yes, the famous “of Gorloises”, how could we forget?’ Malfoy drawled, earning himself another round of snorts.

‘Haven’t heard of Morgana then?’ Hermione demanded furiously. ‘Mordred, Morgause, Igraine?’

‘Oh come on!’ The girl laughed. ‘You can’t actually expect us to believe that? If you’re going to pretend you’re from some family, Mudblood, at least pick a more likely one than that.’

‘Oh, I’m descended from Circe!’ Malfoy mocked through gales of laughter. Resolutely, Hermione decided to prove them wrong but she was intelligent enough to realise that now was not the time. She tossed her hair and withdrew with a haughty stride, noting as she did that the small boy was not laughing with the rest. He alone looked contemplative, and she noticed his eyes fixed on the ring on her finger. She glanced down at his own hand, recognising the seal on his ring bore the same shade of blue coloured stone as her own. He was probably a Nott and if anyone knew of her family name, it would be the heir to the family that were widely considered the wizarding genealogists.

After her falling out with the children in Nott’s compartment, she was eager to do better with the next group of first years. She followed Neville down the corridor and eventually they came upon the messiest compartment so far. The floor was covered in a thick layer of sweet wrappers and more were piled up around the two boys that sat opposite one another. A red-head (Weasley or Prewett) had his wand drawn and pointed at a rat in his lap.

‘Are you doing magic?’ She asked eagerly, keen to see what her wizarding peers were capable of.

‘Er, I suppose.’ The boy answered doubtfully, looking nervously back down at his rat. He cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on his wand and Hermione immediately knew the spell wouldn’t work. He had such weak intent that he’d be lucky to get a spark, even if the words that spilled from his mouth weren’t complete rubbish.

‘Well, that wasn’t a real spell, was it?’ Hermione said, trying to reassure him.

‘My brothers told it to me.’ The boy said, rubbing at the end of his nose where a black speck marked the pale skin.

‘Well, I would have made sure to jinx them if they’d tried to teach me such rubbish. My brothers and I have practiced loads of magic and we managed most of the useful spells in the first year text books last year, its all rather elementary but I expect they want to ease us into it, you know?’ She paused, realising she hadn’t even found out their names yet. ‘I’m Hermione of Gorlois, who are you?’

‘Ron Weasley.’ The redhead answered, looking slightly thunderstruck, ‘who’re your brothers? Mine might know them?’

‘Oh, they both go to Durmstrang. I’m the first in my family to come to Hogwarts in centuries.’ She waved a hand dismissively. She looked at the dark haired boy with the glasses expectantly.

‘Harry Potter.’ He supplied.

‘Oh, Where’s your ring?’ She asked, searching for the symbol that should have given him away. He just looked at her blankly. ‘You’re the patriarch now, aren’t you? Where’s your ring?’

‘I don’t have a ring.’ Harry said, looking like she’d spoken a foreign language.

‘Well, you should speak to the goblins at Gringotts, I’m sure they’d be able to tell you. It’s very important, otherwise you’ll never be able to deal with your house affairs properly.’

‘Did you hear about Gringotts?’ Ron asked, perking up for the first time since his failed spell. ‘Someone broke in.’

‘Really?’ Hermione asked, fascinated. ‘How did they get past the Goblins?’

‘Nobody knows.’ Ron said mysteriously. ‘Dad says it must have been a really powerful dark wizard to get through all the enchantments. They didn’t take anything though, which is what’s got everyone confused.’

‘That’s strange. There’s plenty of easy, low security vaults they could have gotten into once they were inside, even if they couldn’t get to the one they intended to go to.’

‘Well, its gotten everyone nervous incase its You-Know-Who again.’ Ron said the name nervously, glancing around as if terrified that even the moniker would have the dark wizard jumping out at him. Hermione’s mind jumped to Gellert, sitting in some cell in his own prison and she wondered if people spoke his name with the same fear.

There was a long moment of heavy silence, then Neville tapped her on the shoulder and reminded them that they were almost there, and that the boys should probably change. She said her goodbyes, leaving the boys and heading back to their compartment, toad still missing but wanting to check on their other belongings before they arrived.

Before long, the train was drawing to a stop at a dark platform. A cool voice told them to leave their belongings on the train as a stampede of footsteps rumbled down the train and black-robed students flooded out through the doors. Hermione and Neville joined the throng, forcing their way against the flow to reach a giant of a man who called for all the first years. Finally they broke free of the crowd and made their way over to a huddle of pale, nervous looking students. Hermione easily picked out the boys from Malfoy’s carriage, Harry and Ron. Justin was there too and he waved at her. She nodded back, then followed the large man with his bobbing lantern down a long, overgrown path that wound its way into the woods.

She stumbled several times before giving up with a huff.

‘This is ridiculous, can’t we have some light?’ She hissed, throwing her hand up to conjure a floating witch light to light the path ahead. Gasps of surprise and awe met her actions and she caught Neville gaping at her like a fish. ‘Well, get moving!’ She prompted the boy in front of her. He turned around and kept shuffling down the path in her conjured light whilst murmuring broke out behind her.

‘Ye’ll get yer first sigh’ of Hogwarts in a bit.’ Hagrid called back up to them, then he squinted. ‘An’ put tha’ light out!’

‘Oh for Circe’s sake.’ She hissed as she extinguished her light and promptly stumbled over another root in the darkness. ‘This is ridiculous... oh!’

A magnificent castle had appeared through the curtain of trees in front of them. It perched precariously on a mountain opposite, windows glittering like stars in the night sky. It was denser than Blau Berg had been, towers and turrets soaring up in close proximity to one another, so that it looked almost like a solid mass against the darkness. Bridges arched over a deep gorge so that one could access the grounds, which fell away towards a dark, encroaching forest that hugged the edge of the great loch that they stood at the edge of now. Floating just off the beach below them was a fleet of little boats, which people were already climbing into, still goggling at the castle above them. Realising she was one of the last ashore, she hopped in with Harry and Ron, Neville almost tipping the boat over as he followed behind her.

At a single word command from the giant the boats all took off, gliding noiselessly across the water. In an almost choreographed movement, their heads tipped back as they approached the castle, then at another command from the giant, they ducked beneath a curtain of ivy and the light winked out.

With a gentle crunch, their boats bumped up against an invisible shore, and feeling their way forwards, they all clambered out to stand in a huddle on a pebbly shore. Following the distant glow of his lantern, they felt their way up a stone staircase which wound in damp curls up through the rock and eventually emerged onto smooth, damp grass at the foot of the castle.

They followed like sheep up to the base of a large door and the giant gave three powerful, booming knocks.

The doors swung open with a smooth silence that could only be achieved with magic. Professor McGonagall stood there in the same set of emerald robes as she’d worn when she first met them, but now there was a wide brimmed, pointed hat on her head.

They wee led across an entrance hall that was large, but nowhere near as stunning as the one in Blau Berg. There was a large set of double doors, underneath which spilled the sound of hundreds of happy voices. They passed this one and were taken into a smaller antechamber.

‘Welcome to Hogwarts.’ McGonagall said once they were all gathered silently in front of her. ‘The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses...’ Hermione let her gaze wander around the room, only half listening. Malfoy had somehow managed to go even paler and was kneeding his hands in his pockets whilst Harry looked like he was about to faint. There were two Indian looking siblings clutching hands and a girl that could almost have passed for a tubby Jessica was talking to them.

McGonagall left, the door shutting behind her with a thud. For a moment there was just quiet, nervous muttering, then suddenly several people screamed.

A column of pearly white figures had drifted through the wall, arguing fiercely and not seeming to notice the students gathered at floor height below them. Hermione had never actually seen a ghost, despite knowing that there was a whole wing of the Grindelwald castle dedicated to them and that there were twenty or so living there. There was one in a ruff and big, billowing trousers and another rotund one in a monk’s habit. Suddenly, the ghost in the ruff noticed them all gaping up at them.

‘I say, what are you all doing here?’

‘New students!’ The monk exclaimed, smiling. ‘About to be sorted, I suppose?’

Hermione nodded along with several other students.

‘Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know?’ The monk said.

‘Move along now.’ McGonagall was back, and they all turned quickly to face her again. ‘The sorting ceremony is about to start.’

With an excited muttering, the ghosts drifted away through the wall and into what Hermione assumed was the adjacent dining room. They were instructed to form a line, which proved oddly difficult because nobody seemed to want to lead. Eventually, Justin ended up at the front and McGonagall swept away, the first years following like ducklings.

The Great Hall more than made up for the disappointment of the entrance hall. Thousands of candles glowed and flickered below a soaring ceiling enchanted to look like the sky outside. Four long tables ran the length of the room, lined with students in black, faces all turned towards them. Golden plates and goblets glittered down the length of the room, casting warm reflections over people’s clothes and large serving platters suggested the tables would soon be groaning with food. At the far end of the hall was a fifth table on a raised dais, this one populated by teachers. In the middle of the table was an old wizard that Hermione knew instantly, and with another pang of sadness was Albus Dumbledore. He was a year younger than Gellert, and his age-weary face and long white beard were a painful reminder of what Gellert surely looked like now. She wasn’t sure whether she hated him or not for winning the duel, on one hand he had put Gellert in prison, on the other, at least he hadn’t killed him.

They fanned out in front of the staff table and McGonagall placed a small, three-legged stool at the top of the short flight of stairs. On top of the stool, she put a hat that Hermione was certain must be the sorting hat. It was old and ragged with big stains and a patch that crumpled the tip.

Silence fell.

Then the hat burst into song. It was a jaunty little tune about the qualities of the four houses and instructing them on how to get sorted. She heard Ron muttering about how he’d been told he was supposed to wrestle a troll she wondered if anyone else ever read books, or was it unique to her, Gellert and Berg?

When the hat fell silent, McGonagall unrolled a long roll of parchment.

‘Abbot, Hannah.’ She called. A pink-faced girl with her hair in pigtails scurried up to the stool and McGonagall dropped the hat on her head. There was a moment of silence, then the hat opened its mouth and pronounced her a Hufflepuff. The table on the far right erupted in cheers, waving yellow-trimmed sleeves as she made her way over; a huge grin splitting her face from ear to ear. Bones, Susan also went to Hufflepuff then Boot, Terry became the first Ravenclaw.

Hermione didn’t know which house she wanted to be in - there was no precedent for her family, unlike most of the other students here. Whilst she was sure Hufflepuff had an illustrious history, it just didn’t seem like the kind of house that promoted excellence. Slytherin would help her foster the right connections she knew it would be a tricky first couple of months until she could make a name for herself. Conversely, Ravenclaw would provide quick acceptance but might make fostering connections trickier. Gryffindor - the name of the house itself was virtually something one could put on their resume, who didn’t want a public declaration of their chivalry?

Justin became a Hufflepuff as well, then shortly is was Hermione’s turn. To her relief, even though she would have put money on her Muggle name appearing on the parchment, McGonagall hesitated briefly before calling out ‘Gorlois, Hermione.’

She crossed to the stool quickly, sitting and allowing the hat to drop down over her eyes. It was dark and the sound of the hall seemed artificially deadened. Then, inside her Occulumency shields, a voice spoke.

‘My my, how unusual! Yes, Yes, definitely not a Hufflepuff. Bravery, certainly but my my what intelligence. I’d put you in Ravenclaw... but what have we here?’

The hat paused and she could almost feel it rifling through her thoughts.

‘The old ways, hmm? A High Priestess, I don’t believe anyone has held that title since before I was made. Freeing Grindelwald, bringing back your family name, very ambitious. Well, there’s only one house that will truly help you on your way to greatness. Better be...’

‘Slytherin!’ The hat bellowed to the room at large. The table on the left cheered for her and she made her way over quickly, taking a seat between a tall second year and Millicent Bulstrode.

‘Hermione Gorlois, was it?’ A second year opposite her asked. She smiled back at him politely.

‘Not quite, Hermione of Gorlois, it’s a title, rather than a family name.’

She had the attention of everyone around her now, so she deliberately placed her hands on the table, putting her family ring on full display as Malfoy took the seat a couple down from her.

‘So what’s your actual name then?’ The second year demanded.

‘Well, I guess in full it would be Hermione Granger, High Priestess of Gorlois and ward of house Grindelwald.’ She said, forcing herself to sound modest and uncertain. If she hadn’t had their attention before, she certainly held the attention of half the table now. Even Malfoy had fallen silent and was staring at her.

‘Grindelwald?’ A third year witch from down the table demanded.

‘Ward, as in, sponsorship? They haven’t done that in years, even on the continent!’

She nodded up the table at them, doing her best not to preen at the attention.

‘As in Gellert Grindelwald, the dark wizard?’ Another third year confirmed. Hermione winced, hoping that the others hadn’t noticed.

‘His mother was the one to sponsor me.’ She corrected, ‘The High Witch Katerina Grindelwald.’

Malfoy was looking at her open mouthed, Pug-face was spluttering whilst Nott sat quietly beside her, still wearing that contemplative look.

‘Are you sure you want to be shouting that around? Dumbledore’ll be making your life difficult enough just for being in Slytherin, without bandying about that you’re a Grindelwald.’ The third year advised, looking up at the staff table.

‘He already knows, it was a ritual adoption so the name appeared on my letter.’ She waved a hand carelessly.

‘A ritual adoption? Isn’t that blood magic?’ A second year asked. He was big and burly with hands like tennis racquets.

‘Of course.’ Hermione laughed, ‘but its no worse than a Samhain ritual - just a mixing of blood, no sacrifice or anything.’

Dead silence met her words.

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t mention that to anyone outside of Slytherin. Blood magic has been on the list of restricted magic for centuries in Britain. We’re a little more accepting in this house, but you could end up in real trouble if you let that slip to someone in Gryffindor.’ The third year witch who’d spoken first cautioned.

‘But that means you can’t celebrate Samhain with your ancestors? Or Harvest, or even Beltane?’ She was thunderstruck.

‘Nobody’s celebrated those for years. Old spells like that don’t actually work!’ A dark skinned boy had just sat down opposite her and Hermione spluttered.

‘Of course they do! I mean, its tricky magic and you’ve got to have a host, a channel and a key that know how to wield their core without a wand...’ She trailed off, seeing everyone looking at her with sceptical expressions.

‘You’d be lucky to find three people who can do wandless magic.’ Nott informed her. Confused, she reached out with her magic, noticing quickly that the people around her had strange, rigid cores. There was a powerful bond running between the older students and their wands hilts the younger students appeared almost entirely dormant and unpracticed.

‘Oh. I mean, Lady Grindelwald started both Gellert and I wandlessly, so that we’d never come to rely on our wands too much.’ She explained awkwardly, realising why people had been so surprised by her witchlight on the path.

‘You started learning magic wandlessly?’ Malfoy asked sceptically, ‘don’t be ridiculous, most adults can’t do that.’

‘But children can.’ Nott said quietly, still looking at Hermione with that odd expression. ‘Accidental magic is wandless, so we must just... forget how at some point.’

At that moment, silence fell across the hall again and their whispered conversation had to pause. Dumbledore stood up and although he was facing the whole hall, Hermione felt like he was fixated on her. She stared back with a defiant tilt of her chin.

‘Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you.’

Dumbledore sat back down to a wave of slightly baffled applause, then the food finally appeared on the table. Hermione neatly helped herself to generous portions of each dish - potatoes, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, peas and carrots, beans and cabbage.

‘Brilliant!’ The dark skinned boy said loudly. ‘I’m starving.’

The tension was broken and attention shifted away from her and to the food. She smiled to herself; she’d gotten their attention, now she just needed to cultivate that into respect. Yes, Slytherin was definitely the place for her.


	65. Treaty

He hadn’t expected Hermione to see him off to school, but it seemed she’d decided to leave her first day of Hogwarts to say goodbye to him and Berg. He was flattered, but also concerned that she would be missing valuable networking time at her new school. She brushed off his concerns, as did his mother when he went to bid her goodbye. So he allowed the young witch to ride with him down to the portals, despite it being only a short distance from the Lintzen’s castle.

She opened the portal for him, a reminder that he had yet to learn to do it himself, then waved as he and Berg rode through, disappearing from the warm countryside of Fort Stark and reappearing in the dramatic Norwegian landscape.

It felt strange to ride up the track towards the school, dressed in their uniforms like every other student after the drama of the last year. He waved to the people he knew from classes, then froze in disbelief just before he passed through the gates. Berg went to tense beside him that his hippogriff let out a screech of distress.

He knew that beast; a grey hippogriff, saddled in very familiar green.

‘What in Circe’s name is Alice doing here?’ Gellert spat.

‘This is a school, boys.’ A sharp voice reminded them and their eyes snapped sideways to where a teacher stood, arms folded over her chest. ‘Alice is here under the terms of the same treaty that you are, need I remind you that an act of violence is an act of war.’

‘She’s a murderer.’ Berg spat, furiously. The teacher’s face softened.

‘She has been cleared by the courts. Whilst I understand your anger, there is nothing we can do about it. Please, just keep your distance. We do not need another war.’

Still angry, Berg spurred his hippogriff into the courtyard so firmly that it didn’t even kick up its usual fuss at the mud. He swung off, landing with a splash and stalking in through the doorway. Gellert hurried after him, hoping that he wasn’t about to do anything foolish.

Fortunately, it seemed he wasn’t. Berg stormed his way all the way to the second year tower and into a dorm room identical to their first. He yanked the curtains shut around his bunk and the heavy silence from within suggested that he’d also cast a silencing charm. Gellert sat carefully on his own bed, carefully masking his own anger from the sight of those who’d already arrived.

He’d known, theoretically, that Alice had been pardoned because it had made the news but he’d assumed, perhaps foolishly that she’d still be away from them, living in her stolen Manor House. Perhaps she’d be allowed to complete courses by correspondence but he’d never in his wildest imaginings even considered that she’d be let back to school. Were they stupid? Surely they knew that this was an accident waiting to happen, that it was only a matter of time before someone violated the treaty? Even if it wasn’t one of the coven children who did it, there would still be consequences. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that just because they’d beheaded the hydra, it was gone. The ideology that had allowed a large portion of the population to happily work for the other side still existed, even if it was temporarily leaderless.

He would need to make sure everyone on their side knew that they should not strike first, regardless of what was said or done. The quickest way to do that... no, he’d learned his lesson last year. His first task should be to let his mother know and she would alert the coven. He would then do exactly as she instructed him.

He turned to his owl and pulled out his self-inking quill.

Several hours later, after he’d exhausted all other reasonable avenues of entertainment, he finally approached Berg’s bunk. He knocked on the bedpost, then when he received no reply, he poked his head through the drapes.

‘Berg?’ He asked. There was a witchlight illuminating the space, so he knew the other boy wasn’t asleep, even though he was curled up and facing away from Gellert. After a moment without a reply, he clambered through, crawling up to the headboard so that he sat against the carved surface.

‘This sucks.’ Berg said bitterly. Gellert smiled at the strange term, knowing that he’d picked it up from Hermione.

‘It does. Its not right. I’ve written to mother, perhaps she can have something done?’

‘Doubt it. It was in the treaty. I read it.’ Berg grunted.

‘Alright, it sucks.’ He drawled the word, wondering how on earth it had taken on the meaning it had in England. ‘But we can’t do anything about it.’

‘No we can’t. Now, let me feel rubbish in peace.’ Berg grouched, flapping a hand at Gellert to go away.

‘Well, if there’s one thing Hermione taught me, it’s that there’s nothing worse than feeling rubbish alone. Now, I’m not going to hug you because you’re not a woman, but I can certainly sit here and tell you that unless you pick yourself up soon, there’s going to be rumours going around that we’re poofs.’

Berg bolted upright, eyes darting around as he realised the curtains were still closed and that the other boys muttering beyond their privacy charm.

‘Grindelwald!’ He shrieked, scrambling through the curtains in a tangle of limbs. Gellert climbed through a moment later in gales of laughter as Berg struggled to right himself. He stopped laughing a moment later as Berg’s blistering hex impacted solidly with his left arm. He yelped in pain and retaliated.

Five minute later, Berg was trying to extract his new antlers from his torn curtain hangings whilst Gellert cast counter-jinxes on his arm.

‘You better know the counter curse to this.’ Berg hissed as he lost his balance again and crashed into the desk next to his bed.

‘Unless it’s finite?’ He admitted sheepishly. Berg groaned.

‘You’re taking me to the sick bay, and you’re going to be the one to explain why I’ve got antlers before term’s even started.’ The younger boy informed him. Gellert agreed easily and slung an arm around his shoulders, helping him manoeuvre carefully through the low doorframe. Gellert would certainly end up in detention but at least Berg wasn’t thinking about Alice anymore.


	66. Class

Hermione was going to be doing a lot of travelling this year; she would go straight to Scotland as soon as she woke up in the past and spend the morning with her family learning their ancient customs and rituals and working on her ability to channel the sect’s magic. They were also devoted to the more mundane martial arts, and she continued to learn to sword fight and use a bow. In the afternoons she would learn from either Anneken or Lady Grindelwald; politics, ethics, international relations, manners and customs, fashion... everything the two women believed a powerful young matriarch would need to know. She was already dreading the commencement of their lessons in a weeks time - to allow her to settle in at Hogwarts first.

She woke exactly on time in her new, dark bed with it’s long emerald curtains. The windows looked straight out into the lake which glowed green in the daylight, providing a view of large fish that meandered past in search of breakfast. She had the best bed in the whole long, rectangular room, right between two of the windows and not, like the only other bed between two windows, next to the bathroom. It meant that there was some measure of natural light shining on her desk, and that she wouldn’t be disturbed by the girls in the bathroom.

She braided her hair in one of her favourite styles, using a green ribbon to match the new green trim on her uniform and left the room before any of the other girls had even finished in the bathroom.

They had been instructed to wait for the prefects in the common room and although she’d woken up early, she was by no means the first to arrive. Malfoy and his cronies were already there, as was Nott, still watching her with that strange, silent interest. They seemed to have decided to hold her at a cautious distance for now, perhaps wary of her surname but not yet respecting her for it. She had to remind herself of Petrovna’s betrothed and how even though he’d forced politeness for the international system’s sake, he’d never managed to get past her muggle parents. Perhaps they still didn’t believe in her Gorlois ancestry, even if they were wary of the Grindelwald sponsorship?

Once everyone was gathered, they were led to the hall like a flock of ducklings, winding up through the cool dungeons and emerging into the brightly lit hall. The ceiling suggested the day would be very warm, the sky already clear and blue. At the long tables, students were already gathered and she noticed a definite deficit of first years among he Gryffindors. Perhaps nobody had bothered to show them the way and they’d all gotten lost.

As they were eating, their head of house handed out timetables. He was a slimy looking man with a hooked nose and great, billowing cloak. According to the other Slytherins, he taught potions and favoured them, which was a good thing because they had a double lesson on Fridays with the Gryffindors whom he hated.

Her first lesson was Herbology with the Ravenclaws. It took place in the greenhouses and the directions given to them by the prefect were relatively simple so they all arrived with plenty of time to spare. She noticed with some envy that one of the Ravenclaws had a map and they rolled it up as the Slytherins approached. Maybe she could see if her copy of Hogwarts: A history was among the belongings salvaged from Blau Berg and copy out her own map.

Professor Sprout taught Herbology. The other Slytherins turned their nose up at her, which Hermione thought rather shallow. She didn’t wear particularly fashionable clothes and she was more mothering than sage but Hermione could tell immediately that she was an accomplished herbologist and a better than average witch. They didn’t actually learn much as the lesson was spent being shown around the greenhouses and being shown where to find supplies such as fertiliser, potting soil, pots, shears and secateurs.

Their next lesson was charms, taught by a half-goblin duelling champion. They followed the directions given to them by Professor Sprout, moving as a large group up through the many staircases and doorways. The castle was horrifically impractical for everyday use, although at least it would be difficult to take in battle; there were doors that required passwords, staircases that moved and corridors that appeared much longer than they actually were. If she’d designed it, she would have made it so that those defences had to be activated by a certain spell when required. Then again, the entire building hummed with magic in a way that suggested an almost-sentience. Perhaps, it hadn’t been build like this to begin with but had developed quirks as it absorbed the errant magic of so many untrained wixen.

Professor Flitwick didn’t teach them magic either, instead giving them an incredibly tricky lesson on Latin pronunciation. Hermione, who could probably count the number of times she’d actually bothered with an incantation, found the lesson fascinating. She did, perhaps, take more from the lesson than her peers because of the solid foundation she’d received in the subject, as she was still mulling over the intricacies of tense and declination in spellwork as Parkinson, the girl with the nose like a pug, moaned that she’d been looking forwards to casting her first spell.

‘What do you mean, your first spell?’ Hermione demanded, drawn up short by surprise.

‘Well, I’ve done accidental magic of course.’ Pansy replied quickly. ‘But I meant my first one with a wand.’

‘You mean, you’ve never done magic with a wand before?’ Hermione asked incredulously. ‘I thought you were from a wizarding family.’

‘Of course I am.’ The witch sneered.

‘What about your tutors? What did you learn?’ Hermione asked, uncomprehending.

‘They taught me everything I need to know to come to Hogwarts, of course. Manners, politics, genealogy, reading, writing.’ She flicked her hair smugly. ‘Your’s clearly didn’t do a good job of the writing, I’ve seen the chicken scratches you use for note taking.’

‘That’s Ogham.’ Hermione replied coldly. ‘It’s a Celtic runic language, my tutors recommended I write in it to increase my fluency. Your’s were perhaps the ones to fail if you’re producing your first magic in school.’

She flounced off without waiting for a reply, beginning to suspect that she really might be unique in her knowledge of magic before school.

It was because of this that she ended up running into a very lost Harry who was attempting to find his way to the great hall from transfiguration. He called out from the far end of the corridor, having somehow managed to end up higher up in the castle than he’d started.

Harry was incredibly glad to hear that she knew exactly where she was going to get to the hall, having passed it on her way up to Charms from Herbology.

‘It doesn’t make it any easier that they all keep stopping and staring at me.’ Harry moaned as yet another group of students huddled in front of a doorway they needed to take to discuss his scar.

‘You’ll get used to it.’ Hermione assured him. She’d managed to at least, although the sudden notoriety that came from being a Grindelwald had been shocking at first, she had soon become accustomed to it. ‘They’ll grow bored soon enough too. Once they’ve all had a good goggle, they’ll find something else to whisper about.’

‘I hope so.’ Harry looked around worriedly. Then, he changed the subject to their houses. Gryffindor tower was apparently one of the tallest rooms in the castle and it was very warm and cosy. He shared with several other boys; Ron Weasley was his friend, even if he did seem to hate all Slytherins. He told her that apologetically but Hermione just waved it away carelessly. If there was one family she wasn’t overly concerned with cultivating, it was the Weasleys. Ancient they may be, but they had a long history of mediocrity. There were brighter jewels she would need in her crown to achieve what she meant to.

‘What’s McGonagall like?’ Hermione asked after a moment.

‘Really strict, but I couldn’t get my matchstick to turn into a needle at all.’

‘Oh, I struggled with transfiguration when I first started too. Charms are much easier.’

‘Really?’ Harry asked, interested.

‘Charms needs a lot less intent, but a bit more creativity. My first spell was a summoning charm, but it took me six months to get my first transfiguration, and thats only because my brother showed me exactly how to do it.’

‘Wow. I wish I’d had a brother to teach me magic. I don’t know anything.’

‘I don’t think anyone does. Lady Grindelwald was quite old fashioned in my education.’ She said with a wry smile.

‘Really? I think its mental that someone like Ron has been around magic all his life and still knows nothing.’ Both of them shook their heads.

‘Tell you what, are you hungry?’ Hermione asked quickly. Harry, hesitated, then shrugged and followed her through a side door which luckily led into an unused looking classroom. Hermione cleared some space in the middle of the room, dragging a desk out of the way, then sitting on to floor with her legs crossed. Harry dropped down opposite her.

‘Okay, what spell do you want to learn first?’ She asked. Harry hesitated, obviously thinking.

‘Can you tach me to make a light like you did by the boats?’ He finally asked and she grinned at him.

‘Of course. You’ll need your wand to start with, but its better if you learn without a wand otherwise you’ll start to rely on it too much.’

Harry rummaged in his bag and pulled out his wand whilst Hermione did the same. Slowly, she taught him the incantation and wand movement, allowing him to mirror her until he had each one exactly right. To her pleasure, the boy didn’t shirk away from the work involved and rose to her exacting standards with little complaint. He wasn’t anything like Gellert; he was quiet and shy, understated perhaps. He was certainly powerful, not quite as strong as her or Gellert but definitely not far behind and he would have been an easy match for Berg.

Then she lit the end of her own wand and let him inspect it closely, she began to ask Harry about light. Confused, but happy to comply, Harry answered her questions. The light was cool, slightly greenish, incorporeal and centred slightly above the tip of her wand.

Then, she told him to pick up his wand and perform the spell. She got the first hint of impatience when he grabbed his wand. He hesitated only briefly, enough time for her to mutter a reassurance and remind him about viciousness and intent, then he cast the spell with a bellow. His wand lit brightly, illuminating the room in a blinding flash of light. For a moment, he stared at his own wand, seeming surprised. Then he laughed and cheered. Hermione applauded with him.

‘Now, this bit is really important.’ Hermione said quietly. ‘Can you feel your magic? It’s inside you, running along your arm and into your wand.’

‘No?’ Harry asked doubtfully.

‘That’s okay, we’ll work on it. Once you find it, you should try to do all your magic wandlessly. Lady Grindelwald believes that using a wand weakens our connection with out magic.’

A bell rung, interrupting them before they could do any more. Harry was lucky enough to have the afternoon off but Hermione had History of Magic. Harry had already had that lesson and he assured her it was mind numbingly boring, unless she found the Goblin Rebellions particularly fascinating. Hermione did but not for the reason she was certain Harry expected. She bid him goodbye, promising to try to catch up again the next day to work on finding his magical core.

She finished up her day with Transfiguration and as Harry had said, they were meant to be turning a matchstick into a needle. McGonagall have them a stern lecture on how transfiguration was a difficult subject, then with no more guidance than a group repetition of the words and wand movement, set them to work. They lined up to pick up a box of matches from her desk, Hermione falling in at the back when Pansy Parkinson barged in front of her.

‘Professor?’ Hermione asked, as soon as she reached the desk.

‘Yes, Miss Gorlois?’ McGonagall looked at her with her characteristically sharp expression.

‘I’ve already covered this transfiguration with my tutors.’ Hermione informed her, voice pitched low enough to not disturb her classmates. Whilst Hermione understood that the purpose of receiving a head start in her education was to free her up to network during school, but when nobody else was educated enough to make networking during classes a possibility it seemed better to dedicate her time to learning.

‘Have you now?’ McGonagall raised an eyebrow and Hermione nodded. She tapped the box of matches twice with her index finger, sending her magic through it and caressing the matches, drawing them into a sharp points and hardening the wood into metal. Her magic obeyed her commands flawlessly and when she picked up the box to pass it to the transfiguration teacher, it weighed twice as much.

McGonagall slid it open and her eyebrows shot up into her hairline as she took in the fifty perfect needles within.

‘This is very impressive magic, Miss Gorlois.’ McGonagall praised, and Hermione noticed the older witch simply couldn’t keep the admiration out of her voice. ‘Are you able to recreate the effect with a wand?’

‘Yes.’ Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. ‘But I’d rather not. I feel rather detached from my magic when I use wizardry.’

‘Very well. Let me see, perhaps you could spend the lesson copying down what magic you have covered, and I can speak with Professor Dumbledore to create a curriculum for you to study independently.’ McGonagall suggested. Hermione gave her one of her best blinding smiles and bounced back to her desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment and throwing her mind back to her earliest lessons in Blau Berg.


	67. Tower

The tower was cold, it was always cold but he had long grown used to it. School had often been cold, with fires only lit for educational purposes. There had been warmth then though, a warmth found in companionship and friendship. Then the cold had spread, leeching through his skin and chilling his heart, freezing it in his chest and hardening it to the world. Deep within, a new fire had kindled, this one cruel and angry, raging and searing against those who had wronged him. It burned, kept him alive despite his frozen heart.

And he had relished it. He’d wrapped that fire around him and let it burn the world even whilst it sustained him. He’d vowed to never let the coldness touch him again.

He was old now, his skin haggard and his teeth rotten. His once fine clothes hung in tatters over gaunt shoulders that curled over like a fish hook, only matched by the ragged talons of his fingers. His bones stuck out like the knuckles of the elder wand that had once been his and his chest wheezed with every breath. Yet, like she had, he rose every morning to watch the morning out of the window, creaking open the rusted hinges and allowed frigid air to blast bedraggles locks away from his crinkled eyes. He basked in the heat of the rising sun, like he’d once basked in the hot fire of her magic.

He was like an addict to a drug that had long been removed from his grasp. He reached for the mere memory of her, yet found nothing that could ever come close to filling the void that her departure had left, deep beneath the cold and the anger.

The dark, icy behemoth of his magic stirred, like it had done every day for half a century, spilling from his fingers and flooding out across the land. It wove it’s way through the air, saturating it with his power and influence. He pushed it further and further until he felt hollow, except for the heat of the sun upon his skin.

A pale imitation.

With a savage twist, he tore at the fabric of the sky. His magic coiled and spun, whipping dark clouds across the sun and extinguishing it’s light, plunging the dark tower into the perpetual darkness that it lived in. Rain lashed the stone facade, spraying against his skin as thunder boomed at the rough change he’d forced upon the elements.

A spark of life ignited against his consciousness. It flickered against the distressed sky, drawing his attention. Surprised and curious, the prisoner reached out to it. It was racing towards him, flying even as the magical storm battered at it.

He reached out again, stilling the air and easing the passage of his visitor. In the physical plane, a large, tawny owl passed through ancient wards. A seal flared brightly on the letter it carried, allowing it access to the heavily secured prison. Mismatched eyes followed it’s course as it fluttered down and a moment later the prisoner stumbled backwards as the bird alighted on his windowsill.

He knew exactly whom had sent the letter; the man who had stolen everything he had left, the imposter who had once called himself his brother. The one who had stolen his seal and his castle, twisting and modifying wards that she had designed for him.

A skeletal hand jerked out, snatching the letter with a vicious fury that almost tore the cheap parchment his foe had always written upon. He cracked the seal, allowing the almost sacrilegious purple wax it had been pressed into fall in flakes to the ground. He hated that the man had written to him now after so long, yet at the same time his insatiable curiosity stirred, wondering what need his foe had of him now.

The missive was short, splattered with ink where the quill had snapped with the anger of the writer. The writing was even messier than the usual scrawl of the ill-educated, jagged with haste and emotion.

“Who is Hermione Granger of Gorlois?”

The prisoner read it once, then two more times, barely believing the words he was reading. Then he looked at it again, noting the exact words that had been used. Never once had he used her muggle name since she had left, there was no reason for his enemy to know it. There was no way he could know it, she had gone by Gorlois at school and most people in their childhood had known her simply as the Grindelwald ward.. Unless... unless she’d told him herself. He’d used the present tense, rather than the past...

An idea occurred to him, one so outlandish and wild that he could barely believe it. Except, the more he thought about it, the more things seemed to slide into place. Strange occurrences and reactions, things that hadn’t quite added up but he’d glossed over at the reassurance of his mother.

In a dark, bleak tower high in the windswept mountains, miles from the nearest settlement, Gellert Grindelwald laughed.


	68. Headmaster

Friday morning post brought two letters addressed to Hermione. The first came by way of a particularly foul tempered owl with a long, hooked beak and savage talons. It snapped up her breakfast before rocketing off the table in a rush of hard, angular wings that sent the thick letter that Nott’s bird had just delivered spinning like a shruikan across the table.

Hermione was just inspecting the strange metal clasp on the letter when the second owl settled next to her plate. This one was far more polite, taking the offered bacon with a delicate nibble and allowing Hermione to remove the parchment scroll from it’s proffered leg. With the letter received, the bird took of in a gentle rustle of wings. Nott surfaced from beneath the table with his letter, just in time for Malfoy’s owl to drop a large packet of sweets, upsetting his plate of beans all down Nott’s fresh school shirt.

She looked back at her letters, realising that there was a familiar impression in the metal clasp. Puzzled, she pressed her sealing ring against it. It matched perfectly and there was a light, mechanical sounding click and the clasp snapped open.

“To The High Priestess of Gorlois.

High King Ragnuk the Ruthless sends his greetings on behalf of the Goblin Nations to the newest High Priestess. The High King understands that her Ladyship is still a witchling, yet there are matters that ought to be resolved with haste. As a compromise, his Highness would have a meeting arranged in the bank of the Goblin Nation; Gringotts in London, to take place at a time of her convenience, although her Ladyship’s special attention is drawn to the upcoming Yule celebration.

With the greatest regard,

King Ragnuk the Fearless,

High King of the United Goblin Nations.”

It was written in Ogham, which made her incredibly glad that she’d learned the runic language. No doubt her reply would be expected in the same tongue. She would have to consult with Gorlois and Lady Grindelwald to try and figure out what the goblins wanted and how to deal with them. History of Magic lessons may be boring, but she knew the goblins had staged several rebellions. She was certain that this meeting would be fraught with danger.

The second letter was sealed with a very familiar seal; that of the Hogwarts Headmaster and it appeared that Professor McGonagall had been true to her word. He wanted to meet to discuss her class work, and the letter contained instructions to find his office.

She gathered her belongings quickly, pushing her book back into her bag and swinging it over her shoulder. She left the hall quickly, cutting right out of the flow to pause in the relative privacy of a statue to wait for Nott, who’d rushed out of the hall after her.

‘Hermione...’ He called out, dancing around a group of Ravenclaw girls. She rolled her eyes, wondering why he’d bothered to call out when it was obvious that she’d stopped to wait for him. He looked slightly rumpled, his robes pulled tightly across his chest to hide the tomato stain from earlier and the letter he’d received clutched in his hand, crumpling it.

‘I er...’ He hesitated, going slightly pink. ‘I don’t know if you know, but my family have always been the wizarding world’s historians.’

‘Go on.’ Hermione prompted, slightly impatiently. She was meant to be at the headmaster’s office in twenty minutes and she wanted to be early.

‘The seal you wear, it’s the Gorlois seal.’ Hermione rolled her eyes, but Nott seemed to find she hadn’t understood the gravity of his statement. ‘It’s not a forged seal, that’s not any stone or metal you can find. You couldn’t wear it if you weren’t a Gorlois.’

‘I know I’m a Gorlois, I’ve been to my family’s holdings.’ She let irritation bleed into her voice.

‘Your seal is part of the Nott seal.’ He threw his hands up quickly as if to stop her rising irritation. ‘We used to be vassals of your family. That’s how we have so many ancient records; we used to keep them for your family.’

He opened the letter in his hand, smoothing out the creases against his leg and glancing at it quickly.

‘He said that I should make a judgement as to whether your family’s magic had held true, and if it has he instructed me to make your acquaintance.’

‘Well, you have.’ She said shortly, feeling somewhat exasperated. As interesting as it was that the Notts had been close to her family in the past, it was hardly surprising as they were meant to be one of the oldest wizarding families. Nott was twisting his letter between his hands now and he kept glancing up the staircase.

‘He also said that if I could make myself deserving, I should seek to become your advisor.’

‘At the moment, all you’re doing is making me late. I have to meet with the headmaster in fifteen minutes.’

‘That’s what I have to talk to you about!’ The boy finally said, eyes wide. ‘You must be careful, Albus Dumbledore is not as friendly as he seems. Rumour has it, he had a fascination with Gellert Grindelwald and they schemed together, until Dumbledore saw an easier way to power and turned on him.’

‘I am aware that it was Dumbledore who brought my brother down...’ Hermione trailed off, thinking. She knew very little of the headmaster other than the glowing comments made in the books. Nott clearly knew the things that weren’t published and she could certainly do with an ally. She completely missed his reaction to calling Gellert her brother, turning towards the staircase. ‘Walk with me, we can talk along the way.’ She instructed. Nott fell in beside her as they slipped back into the flow of students. As they walked, Nott relayed everything he knew about Dumbledore in a whisper; how his father had been arrested for attacking a group of muggles, how his sister had become a dark magical creature and the family had hidden her away without seeking help. He claimed that Dumbledore had become close friends with Grindelwald, planning a return to the old ways, then realised that hatred of the old ways would provide a quicker path to power. From there, Dumbledore had strung the wizarding world along as he refused to confront Grindelwald before eventually coming out as the ‘reluctant hero’. Of course, from there on, he could do no wrong in the eyes of the people. He was, Nott told her in a whisper, a legilimens and some said he was in possession of several powerful artefacts.

They reached the statue that supposedly guarded the Headmaster’s office, falling silent quickly incase there were any monitoring charms on it.

‘Thank you for your advice, Heir Nott.’ Hermione said formally, bowing her head to her companion.

‘I serve in any way I can...’ He hesitated, glancing at the statue, then saying very deliberately ‘Lady Hermione.’

The lack of her true rank or title was irregular, but Hermione immediately understood that Nott seemed to think her true title shouldn’t be acknowledged in front of Dumbledore. After everything she’d just learned about the crook, she was inclined to agree with him.

‘Please, call me Hermione. I’ll see you at lunch?’

Nott’s face lit up with a bright grin; all teeth.

‘Sure, see you there. I’m Theodore, but unless my father’s around, call me Theo.’

She waved at Theo once, rather pleased with her new ally. He was intelligent, knowledgable and at least decently powerful if she could persuade him not to use a wand. She forced herself not to be distracted, checking her occulumency shields and straightening her hair and robes until she looked immaculate. She briefly considered a colour-changing charm on the ribbons in her hair to make them a little less... Slytherin, then decided against it. She was proud of her house and her heritage.

At precisely nine o’clock, the gargoyle began to grate upwards and she hopped onto the staircase, allowing it to carry her upwards as it rotated. It grated rather dramatically and in her opinion quite unnecessarily, perhaps a design factor to help intimidate students in trouble.

The door at the top had no knocker, but it swung open as soon as the staircase reached the top, allowing her to stride through with projected confidence. The office itself was fascinating, a huge array of instruments and tools, books piled on shelves and rows and rows of portraits. A phoenix ruffled it’s feathers on a perch near a staircase whilst the owl that had delivered her letter snoozed on a different perch. Among all the clutter, one could almost miss the headmaster seated at a large desk.

‘Miss Granger. Have a seat.’ The headmaster requested.

‘It’s either Miss Gorlois, or Miss Grindelwald.’ She corrected sharply without taking the offered seat.

‘Ah.’ Dumbledore said delicately. His long fingers unwrapped a curiously muggle sweet. ‘We don’t often have students with quite as many names to choose from.’

‘Perhaps not. I’m sure you will respect my decision on the matter however.’

‘Of course, Miss Gorlois. I do wonder at your haste to rid yourself of your muggle name...’

‘It is the correct term of address and to prioritise my muggle name over my wizarding ones would be disrespectful to both families.’

Dumbledore pursed his lips, looking less than pleased with her answer. Rather than push the point though, he lifted a sheet of parchment from his desk and Hermione recognised her elegant calligraphy covering the page. It was not an exhaustive list of everything she knew and now that she’d spoken to Theodore, she was glad she’d left the less defined Gorlois magic off.

‘Wandless magic is dangerous and difficult, that your... guardian... would force you to learn magic this way is very concerning.’

‘I find the practice beneficial.’ She said shortly. ‘With appropriately skilled tutoring, witchcraft is no more dangerous or difficult than wizardry.’

‘Hmm.’ Dumbledore peered at her over his oddly-shaped spectacles. Whilst his expression was friendly enough, she could already feel the animosity in his gaze. She was getting the distinct impression that she was foiling whatever plans he had laid for her. ‘There is also a significant portion of this magic that certainly falls on the darker side of the magical spectrum.’

‘What?’ Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

‘Ritual magic is, by its very nature, dark. Ogham too is considered the language of dark magic and very few texts survive that don’t involve necromancy of some form.’ His eyes had definitely turned cool by now and Hermione made a decision that would certainly mark her path for the future.

‘Ritual magic is old, not dark. Just because those who do not practice it do not understand it, doesn’t make it evil. Neither is Ogham; it is merely a language and what you choose to do with it is what makes it light or dark.’

Dumbledore definitely had his lips pursed now and he leaned back in his chair.

‘Those words could have come straight from the words of Gellert Grindelwald himself.’

‘Yes. We do share the same mother, I dare say we have been taught similar lessons.’ She finally took the seat she’d been offered, lounging in it somewhat arrogantly. For the first time, she met Dumbledore’s eyes and immediately felt the intrusive tapping of occlumency. She retaliated with a spike of magic, driving it towards the tapping and letting her natural fire scorch it’s target. She was rewarded with a pained intake of breath and the intrusion disappeared. She smiled smugly.

‘Unsolicited legilimency is both rude, illegal and most certainly dark.’ She said coldly. She hadn’t particularly liked what she’d heard about him and with that, even if she’d managed to fend him off, she decided he was just as bad as everything she’d heard. ‘Now, I believe you called me here to discuss my education.’

‘Unfortunately, Miss Granger, I find myself concerned by your attitude and opinions. I do not believe it is within the best interest of the greater good to provide you with anything else, except perhaps lessons in magical ethics - a course that I believe is delivered at Durmstrang. It is my opinion that you need to go back to the basics and learn magic in an appropriate, safe manner. You will continue to learn with your classmates.’

Hermione gritted her teeth furiously. Shouting would get her nowhere except thrown out. She had to forcibly remind herself that she had plenty of avenues for learning during her time in the past, and even independent study.

As she left the room, she swore that Albus Dumbledore would rue the day he turned her hope for additional education down. She would use the time to cultivate his pawns, working them out from under him until he had nobody left, turning them into her followers. She would wield her influence to bring back the old ways that he so feared, and she would prove that she was the greater good.


	69. Fjord

“He’s an arrogant, manipulative, rude, ill-educated, entitled, narrow minded, crooked, self-serving, egomaniacal, puppeteering bully.” Gellert quoted from his latest letter from Hermione. Berg, who had been listening to him read it out from across the desk, laughed.

‘Sounds like she doesn’t much like this Dumbledore.’

‘She vows vengeance on him later on. Otherwise, she seems to be getting along alright. She’s been sorted into Slytherin - that’s one of their houses and she’s made friends with a Nott and a Potter.’ Gellert scanned through the rest of the letter. It was even longer than her letters usually were, going into great detail about all of her classes and the school itself.

‘That’s a relief.’ Berg sighed, leaning back and stretching his arms up above his head.

‘How’s that essay?’ Gellert asked, abandoning the letter in favour of his brother’s essay. As usual, Berg had written almost double the required amount, embellishing it with quotes and facts that made teachers drool.

‘Not for you to copy!’ Berg snatched his essay back.

‘I wouldn’t!’ Gellert defended. That was true, he would never lower himself to copy, but he also wouldn’t mind reading Berg’s essay. His brother’s extensive knowledge of even the most obscure facts meant Gellert could learn almost as much from his homework as he did from the class it was set in.

‘Of course you wouldn’t. Now go riding with that awful beast of yours. You’ve been cooped up too long and your energy is spoiling my concentration.’

Gellert didn’t argue. He’d been sticking close to Berg ever since the start of term in case he did something stupid about Alice, but Berg was naturally a lot less active than he was, so the dark, cramped castle had long become claustrophobic.

So, with Berg occupied for the foreseeable future, Gellert fled to the stables for some much needed time outdoors.

Less than twenty minutes later, freezing water lapped over his shoulders as he let Kelpie’s powerful swimming tow him across the fjord to the relative privacy of the opposite bank. He’d spied this spot during the fitness sessions their duelling instructor kept putting them through, and it was just as wonderful as he’d thought it would be. There was a stretch of flat, gravelly beach with a border of larger boulders that vanished into the mossy green depths of a pine forest. Under the shadow of the trees, he could practice the sword forms that Mordred had taught him, flowing from one stance to another and smacking at a tree branch with a transfigured stick.

A slow clapping broke his concentration and he spun, the stick-sword dropping from his fingers as he grabbed his wand.

‘Alice.’ He said coldly. Like him, she had grown and hardened over the past year, her cheekbones becoming more angular and her face thinner. Her hair had lightened as well, becoming almost brassy orange and making her face look pale and washed out. Her right hand, he noticed, was ruined; perhaps crushed by the falling debris in the castle. Her fingers were twisted into hook-like talons and the skin of her wrists was pitted and scarred. The damage should have been healed easily by a healer, but he doubted many would see her. She had a scar on her forehead too, still shiny and pink and stark against the snowy paleness of her face.

‘Grindelwald.’ She strolled forwards over the uneven ground, Tunninger jewels clinking from every conceivable place a woman could hang them. She didn’t look like the daughter of an ancient house anymore, let alone it’s Matriarch. He would have placed her as new money, desperate to prove her wealth and labouring to hide her own flaws beneath priceless gems.

‘What do you want?’ He demanded, wand tip trailing her every movement.

‘To know how my brother is. You seem determined to keep him from me.’ She pouted as if he had done her some great disservice.

‘Don’t act stupid.’ He snapped. ‘Seeing you will only hurt him.’

‘I’m his only sister.’

‘No, you lost that honour. He has Hermione now and she is a better sister than you will ever be. She comforted him, she was his shoulder to lean on and she has performed the death rituals for the parents you killed.’

‘Hermione.’ Alice’s face pinched. ‘That upstart little bitch takes everything that is mine.’

‘No, you present it to her on a platter when you let ambition and greed control your actions.’

‘I only wish for my place, it is her, swanning in with her fancy ancient name that has you hungering for her power. I want who we are to mean something, rather than who we are born to? Even Muggles have evolved past a hierarchy that revolves around brute strength.’

‘She didn’t have her fancy name when you made your vendetta.’ He pointed out. ‘She was a new blood, but she was respectful and keen to learn.’

‘But you picked her because she was strong. I was respectful and I was keen to learn, but I was never good enough.’ He wished she’d howl, but instead, Alice whispered and tears glittered down her cheeks. He was certain it was an act, but it still pulled at his chest. She might have changed, but she was still his childhood friend and in tears.

He shook himself firmly and took a step back. He would not fall for the act.

‘The treaty says we must not fight, not that I must listen to your attempts at manipulation.’ He declared, backing away towards the water’s edge. Kelpie was still out swimming, but he would come if he smelled his master in the water.

‘You see, you can’t even defend her in civilised conversation but she has you all wrapped around her claws.’ Alice was following him, and he backed away as quickly as she approached, getting deeper and deeper into the frigid water. The strong current buffeted him, sending small rocks banging against his bare feet. The rocks were slippery too, and he almost fell twice.

Alice’s skirt brushed the water’s edge.

‘I don’t think this is civilised.’ He said. Where was Kelpie?

‘It’s not.’ Alice said with a wicked grin. He reacted like lightening, erecting a shield as her wand flashed. The impact was like taking one of Mordred’s blows and his feet skidded on the weed covered rocks. He didn’t even get a chance to catch his breath before water closed over his head. He scrabbled desperately at the rocks, trying to find a hold as he was dragged along. He managed to surface briefly for air as the current eddied, then he was swept out and down. The light disappeared quickly, his lungs burned as he futilely kicked his legs, making no headway.

Hair, long and and silky smooth tangled around his fingers. A large body brushed against his, cool but less cold than the water. More hair tangled with his feet, a slight distraction from the fire in his chest. There was a pressure in his ears, pushing against his eyes. Sharp teeth closed around his shirt, scratching his skin but oddly not hurting at all.

His lungs heaved, drawing in heavy, thick water. It felt rather peaceful. He couldn’t see much - the deep black below him, paler blue above. A large shape wound around him, some creature of the deep that made odd, keening sounds. He wondered vaguely if it was calling friends. Would he drown first, or would they eat him alive?

It was rather pathetic, he thought. He’d survived their trip in the desert, flown half way across the world on the back of a bird with such a severe infection that he could barely stay conscious. He’d lived with muggles, fought a war. Of course he’d die like this, away from Hermione. She’d probably never even know, Alice wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened, he’d just go missing. Maybe his wand would wash up somewhere. He hoped that Hermione performed that ritual for him, then he could at least see her again.

There was light below him now, glowing green through the water but spotted with black and purple.

He wished he’d spoken to Mordred, asked if any of Hermione’s undead family knew what came after death.

He could see the animal’s friends now, smaller but streaking up from the depths.

Blackness was wavering at the edges of his vision. It would be a close run - eaten or drowning. Maybe he’d get to feel them start to tear into him before he died, a combination of both?

Skeletal fingers closed around his arms, a leering face with savage fangs and massive eyes.

He was relieved when unconsciousness claimed him.


	70. Library

Hermione dropped down at the library table opposite Harry, earning herself a glare across the table from Ron Weasley. She glared back with every ounce of coldness she could muster. She didn’t know what Harry saw in the oaf - he was far from powerful and painfully lazy, providing the bare minimum effort in classes then moaning when his grades reflected that.

‘Snape hates me, Hermione!’ Harry insisted. The young witch was unable to deny it, Professor Snape truly did hate him. He asked him difficult questions on topics they hadn’t even been taught yet, sneered at his potions when they were perfectly passable and made everything more difficult by breathing down his neck. Not that Hermione thought his teaching method was particularly exemplary. She encouraged Harry to learn about ingredients rather than individual potions during their study time; actions, reactions and combinations.

‘Not as much as McGonagall hates me.’ Hermione pointed out. It was unfortunate because Hermione really admired the older witch but it seemed Dumbledore had said something to her. The witch would sniff stiffly every time Hermione achieved the class work, criticising her wand work constantly, even though it didn’t matter what her wand work was like when she could perform it all without a wand. It was an exercise in frustration, but she had to keep at it and satisfy her need to learn elsewhere. Perhaps, given time, McGonagall could be swayed from Dumbledore’s influence as well.

‘Hermione, Potter, Weasley.’ A voice greeted over her shoulder. She turned, smiling, to see Theo with his bag slung over his shoulder. He nodded his head deferentially to her and she shuffled aside to make room for him. ‘Pince is coming, by the way. You might want to put that sandwich away.’ He told the redhead in a friendly tone. Hermione rolled her eyes, already knowing how this would unfold but amused none the less. She almost suspected Theo did it on purpose to get Weasley kicked out.

As promised, Madam Pince did appear around the shelves, spotting first their group then zeroing in on the food. She turned puce, her chest drawing up as if she was about to shout.

‘Out!’ The librarian hissed in an impressive display of restraint. ‘Weasley, out!’

Grumbling irritably, Weasley shoved both sandwich and homework into his bag in an untidy mess. He looked beseechingly at Harry as if expecting the other Gryffindor to follow him, then slouched out when the Boy-Who-Lived remained seated. Madam Pince scowled warningly at the remaining three, then prowled away again.

‘Do you ask her to come over?’ Harry hissed at Theo.

‘No.’ The Slytherin boy replied innocently. Hermione was willing to bet he never spoke to her, but that announcement was as good as, especially carrying like it would in the silence of the library. ‘What are you working on, Hermione?’

‘Charms.’ She gestured at the text book vaguely.

‘Just in case she couldn’t already do fire-making charms.’ Harry joked. Hermione scowled at him.

‘Just because I can already do the spell doesn’t mean I’m excused from the homework.’ She huffed. Theo raised an eyebrow.

‘Actually, it does. Professor Flitwick set the homework for everyone who hadn’t managed the spell.’

Hermione huffed again and kept writing. Hermione had a particular affinity with fire because that was how her magic naturally manifested but she definitely didn’t consider that an excuse to slack off on the technical details of casting it. If she ever needed to perform more complex fire magic, perhaps some sorcery, she would need to understand exactly how to wield it.

‘Wish I could do what she does. Father says her... Grindelwald... that he could do it too. He was famous for his wandless magic.’

‘I’m getting the hang of the witchlight, but nothing else is working for me.’ Harry griped. He really had improved and he could easily conjure a light in the palm of his hands. Theo, like her, had chosen summoning as his first spell to learn wandlessly. He was progressing faster than Harry, not because he had more power but because Harry’s mental processes were so different to anyone Hermione had cast with that she struggled to help him in particularly meaningful ways. The Gryffindor didn’t seem to care though, taking to the task with all the fervour he seemed to lack in potions.

‘Have you looked into your seal at all?’ Theo asked after a moment of studious silence. Hermione glanced up in interest.

‘Not really.’ Harry admitted, glancing at the rings that adorned both Slytherin’s fingers and then at his own bare hands.

‘It’s not right.’ Theodore said, agitation clear in his voice. Hermione understood what he meant; Harry was the head of a powerful family and the fact that his seal was missing meant that anyone who picked it up could essentially wield his influence.

‘The Dursleys might have thrown it away. They hate everything magical.’ The dark haired boy admitted gloomily. Hermione shook her head.

‘I doubt it. They can usually only be given away, there’s nasty curses on them otherwise.’ Her own carried a terrible penalty for anyone who thought to steal it; the wraiths that guarded the cairns around her home had fallen victim to it at various times throughout the ages.

‘It must have been given to whomever has it willingly by your magical guardian. Have you seen your parent’s will, that might be the place to start?’ Theo suggested. Looking confused, Harry shook his head. ‘My father has contacts with the goblins, they’ll be able to tell you who has access to the family vault. I’m sure if you put the request in writing...’

‘Hagrid used a key to get into my vault.’ Harry volunteered and both Slytherins started, sharing a look that had Harry huffing in confusion. ‘What’s so important about that?’

‘You shouldn’t need a key to get into an old family vault.’ Theo said slowly, glancing at Hermione. ‘They’re all below the dragon, and you just have to identify yourself to the goblins. They open it for you. Keys are only for smaller vaults, usually for wizards that aren’t personally recognised by the goblins.’

‘So you think that’s not my vault?’ Harry confirmed.

‘It’s probably a trust vault. I have several in Germany; they’re for individual members of the family to access and are usually filled from the main family vault.’ Hermione informed him. ‘There will almost certainly be a main vault somewhere else, and whoever has your seal has allocated some into your trust vault.’

‘Or,’ Theo added, ‘what’s in there is just what was in there when your parents died. Most patriarchs put in a couple of thousand when a child is born.’

‘Your parent’s will should say who they wanted your guardian to be. It wouldn’t have been the Dursleys because you can’t leave stewardship to muggles.’ Hermione drummed her fingers against the table, glancing at Theo for reassurance.

‘Hermione’s right. Finding their will might be tricky though. I think going to the goblins would be best; they usually keep a copy.’ Theo said decisively.

‘Dumbledore might know? He was friends with them.’ Harry said hesitantly.

‘Dumbledore wouldn’t tell you if he did. He has a habit of collecting other family’s seals.’ Theodore sneered and Harry looked taken aback.

‘Hagrid said he was a great wizard.’ He said defensively.

‘He is a great wizard.’ Hermione scoffed. ‘He’s also a manipulative old coot who tried to perform illegal legilimency - mind reading, Harry, he tried to read my mind - on me.’

‘You held him off though, right. Maybe he was just testing you?’ Harry asked, looking conflicted.

‘That’s not the point.’ Theo hissed, ‘She is a family matriarch so she has family secrets in her mind. Unsolicited legilimency is completely illegal and absolutely dark magic. Occlumency is a last resort, not something you should have to keep up all the time.’

Harry wisely dropped the idea of asking Dumbledore and returned to his homework.

‘I could, perhaps, speak to King Ragnuk when we meet over Yule.’ Hermione said slowly. Two pairs of eyes shot upwards.

‘You’re meeting with the goblin king?’ Theo demanded. Hermione tossed her hair.

‘I am, he requested the meeting. I had hoped that you would both join my party.’

‘Join your party?’ Theo asked faintly.

‘What party?’ Demanded Harry.

‘Its expected that I turn up with several other people with me when I go to meet with the King. They would consider it offensive if I showed up alone, because it means I don’t consider them a threat.’ Hermione explained patiently. Only days ago, she too had assumed that she would be going to Gringotts alone and it had been Gorlois who debased her of that notion during one of his random bouts of useful advice among the many rituals and pieces of family history he fed her during their theory lessons.

‘So you want to take us?’ Harry confirmed. ‘I don’t know if they’ll let me leave Hogwarts for just a day over the holidays.’

‘I know, I haven’t figured out those details yet either.’ She admitted.

‘I can speak to my father.’ Theo volunteered, then he hesitated. ‘Although, he might be difficult about having Harry Potter over for Christmas...’

‘Why would he have a problem with me?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘Nothing, just... it doesn’t matter. I’ll ask him.’ The Slytherin boy said quickly, pointedly returning to his homework even as his cheeks glowed pink. He ignored their curious looks, then after a while Hermione shrugged.

‘If he’s happy to have us, I’d love to spend Yule with you.’ She too returned to her homework and the rest of the evening was passed on lighter subjects - Professor Quirrel’s turban and his latest vampire story, Mrs Norris, and the portrait of the drunken nun who’d tried to kiss the knight in the second floor corridor, creating uproar among the portraits.


	71. Mer

He woke up to sharp pain everywhere and immediately wished he was back asleep. His chest was agonising and his throat felt like it was on fire. An awful screeching noise split his ears, then skeletal hands wrapped around his arms and dragged him upright. A moment later he was throwing up bile everywhere, all over the thing that was supporting him.

His actions were met by more screeching and babbling and it wasn’t until long after his vomiting had subsided into a feeling of damp exhaustion that the noise became words. Someone was singing a soothing song in a strange, foreign language and rubbing his back soothingly.

He blinked his eyes, realising he was in a strange, damp room. Water dripped from the ceiling and splashed against a floor coated in fluffy weeds. The stink of bile barely covered the tangy ripe smell of underwater mud and the person behind him was...

A mermaid.

Her tail was spectacular, glittering green scales covered a thick, sinuous tail and long, delicate fins dotted down the length of her slightly paler front. She wore a shirt of small, shiny stones that had been knotted together with course looking rope and her green hair hung in damp locks around her face. Her eyes were huge in her face, suggesting that she was the thing he’d seen just before he lost consciousness.

‘You almost died. Wizards are not meant to be down this deep.’ She told him, her voice sounding scratchy in the dry air.

He tried to reply, but ended up coughing instead.

‘Don’t speak just yet, our healers think they might have damaged your throat when you breathed in water.’ She instructed gently. ‘Here, this is a potion for you.’

Gellert really didn’t want to see anything liquid again but he complied anyway, drinking down one of the worst potions he’d ever drunk. It seemed to work as his throat was instantly soothed and his pounding headache lessened slightly. He glanced around the room again, taking in the golden glowing weeds which draped down from the ceiling and lit the wooden room they were in. The floor was flat but the walls curved out oddly and the window was circular. If he was at the bottom of the fjord he guessed that this was a ship, preserved by the merpeople as a home.

‘Your Kelpie is outside.’ She told him gently as he tried to stand and look out of the window. ‘He’s why we rescued you; there’s not many surface dwellers that can earn enough loyalty from a Kelpie to tempt it away from a Mervillage.’

‘Kelpie.’ He managed to croak.

‘Yes, your Kelpie. He rushed off you get you as soon as you cut yourself, I imagine he would have come for you sooner if the Merpoles hadn’t been riding him.’

A moment later, a very familiar head popped through the invisible barrier that held the water out of the room. Gellert jumped up, staggering across the room on wobbly legs to throw his arms around the beast’s neck.

Kelpie’s breath stank of fish and his coat was freezing, dripping with the water he’d just emerged from but Gellert couldn’t care less. Kelpie was home, comforting in his familiarity. The little breathless huffs as his breathing changed from gills to nostrils, the way he bobbed his head down to check his pockets for treats.

‘He’s been checking on you since we got you here. If he could climb through that window, he would.’ She made a screeching noise that might have been a laugh, then shooed Kelpie away again so that he could drink a whole selection of awful potions.

Eventually, he realised that he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious for and he asked. Apparently it hadn’t been as long as it sounded - only six hours which meant that unless Alice had said something, they probably hadn’t even realised he was missing yet. The bad news was that he wouldn’t be well enough to get to the surface for several days yet.

That meant that whatever story Alice told everyone would be what everyone had to believe, unless he could somehow get a message up to the surface. His request was unsurprisingly met with denial. Merpeople were hunted by many wizards for their scales and hair and this hidden colony had no intention of revealing themselves to someone who hadn’t been vouched for by a Kelpie.

Perhaps, he suggested, he could put a message in one of the old bottles they used for potions and it could be swum to somewhere where, when released, it fetched up against the beach used by first years for duelling practice.

This idea was quickly agreed upon, allowing him to stumble upon the next hurdle. Hermione’s natural wandless magic was awe inspiring and allowed her to conjure things as complex as a quill and parchment with ease. His own however, whilst excellent in its own right, still struggled under the limitation of what he perceived as possible. He didn’t believe he was able to wandlessly conjure a quill, so he couldn’t.

Fortunately, it also turned out that wandlessly attempting to conjure parchment, ink and quill was exactly what his exhausted lungs and body needed to recover. Three hours of sitting in frustrating silence as he attempted to conjure what he needed left him feeling physically much better. By the time the mermaid, whose name he absolutely could not pronounce, returned with another round of potions he felt well enough to eat the meal she provided.

The fish was very, very fresh and apparently only stunned because within moments of receiving it, it wriggled out of his hands and started flopping across the floor and towards the freedom of the door. Perhaps, with any other young wizard it might have gotten away, but even if Gellert couldn’t conjure a parchment, he knew he could hunt animals.

Green flashed brightly, flaring from his fingertips with a whoosh, as if something large had passed overhead. The fish stilled and he reached down to pick it up.

‘I’ve seen surface dwellers eat them raw before.’ The mermaid advised him. He grimaced and looked down at the fish in his hands.

It was large and silver-brown with delicate blue and black flecks along it’s back, but at least the flesh was firm. Reluctantly, he sliced the tail off with a wandless severing charm and dug his fingers into the cool, slippery flesh.

‘You know, I think I’ve had enough freshly hunted meals for a lifetime.’ He said, inspecting the chunk. Before he could think better of it, he shut his eyes and shoved it in his mouth, swallowing it with absolutely minimal chewing. It was actually very good, he decided, even if it made him feel like a caveman. The fish was firm and moist, mildly flavoured and very delicate and he realised that if it wasn’t literally gouged from the carcass, it would have been delicious in any household. Assuming, that is, that one could get it this fresh.

He ate his fill rapidly after that and was about to give his leftovers to Kelpie when he noticed the blood dripping from the severed tail. It was gruesome, but he realised he had a method of writing that was much more achievable.

He tore off a piece of his shirt and stretched it out between his fingers on the floor, then he plucked a long, soft rib bone and dipped it into the congealing pool of blood, managing to scratchout a short message.

“Stuck at bottom. Gellert.” He rolled the piece of shirt up and packed it into the bottle, plugging the top with a densely packed wad of shirt. By tomorrow’s duelling lesson, people would know not to believe Alice’s story.


	72. Messenger

‘Sorry, could you please repeat that?’ Hermione said slowly, her eyes fixed on the unfortunate teacher who had been sent to relay the news. It was miserable weather and water soaked the unfortunate messenger who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but at the gates of Fort Stark, delivering the news he had to deliver. Hermione’s wandless manipulation of water had winds swirling gently around her, stirring the raindrops just enough that they missed her. The fact that she appeared dry with no obvious magical intervention seemed to unnerve the teacher, his eyes kept darting to her hands as if looking for a wand.

‘Herr Grindelwald seems to have somehow gotten stuck at the bottom of the fjord.’ The teacher repeated, wiping drops of water from his brow and flinging them away.

‘Do you have any understanding of how this happened?’ She demanded. Even considering the accidents that seemed common at Hogwarts, this was extreme. Particularly when one considered the recently signed treaty. At least they had managed to notify the family in person this time, rather than a letter that arrived several days late. Although the messenger certainly didn’t inspire much confidence in the school. He was slightly overweight and dressed in plum robes and had arrived astride an overweight, flightless hippogriff. He’d managed to rein in in time to not run over Hermione, although it had been a close thing and his dismount had been inelegant at best. Now, he sweated and trembled as he faced down a single eleven year old. It did not bode well for his career.

‘Unfortunately not, he sent this note to us via floating bottle.’ The teacher passed Hermione the note and she held it up to the light, reading the scratchy handwriting on the course weave that looked suspiciously like Durmstrang shirt fabric. It was written in blood and smelled pungently of fish, the odour certainly not improved with time.

‘And you have no other evidence?’ She demanded coldly. The teacher swallowed nervously and adjusted his plum cloak against his sodden ponytail.

‘We only know that he departed astride his beast earlier that day. We have repeatedly expressed concern over the incredibly dangerous nature of his beast near water and asked him not to ride near the fjords. Our current theory is that he lost control of his beast and it dragged him down.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Gellert and Kelpie have been swimming together for years; Kelpie is as likely to drag him down as my Longma is to breathe fire. I want evidence, real evidence. Where was Alice and her allies at the time, where did he ride to - have you followed his tracks? No? Well get to it. This is the second time you have lost out heir, I dearly hope he is in less danger this time than he was then.’

Hermione spun on her heel and stalked back into the castle, leaving the teacher and his tubby, flightless hippogriff to make their way back through the dreary rain to the portal. She stomped all the way to Lady Grindelwald’s rooms, throwing open the door with barely a knock. Herr Lintzen looked up from where he was playing chess against the fearsome matriarch. He took one look at Hermione’s expression and laughed.

‘What have Durmstrang done now?’

‘Gellert has somehow managed to get trapped at the bottom of the fjord. As usual, they only have baseless theories and have yet to do any actual investigating.’ She snapped, storming to the third chair and dropping into it with a stiffness that betrayed her ire.

‘Perhaps you should visit again.’ Herr Lintzen chuckled.

‘Perhaps I should dry up the fjord.’ She suggested spitefully. Unfortunately, she didn’t think that was quite within her power, but she was certain that there was a magical method to search the bottom of the water if they put their mind to it. Perhaps there was a potion that could make someone grow gills, or she could transfigure the headmaster into a fish.

‘I was briefly concerned, his connection to the family magic faded this morning, but it strengthened quickly. He seems to be recovering now and so far he does not appear to be in any subsequent danger. Durmstrang had reacted somewhat better this time, despite the lack of problem solving capabilities found in the general population.’ Lady Grindelwald decided. She reached forwards over her blanketed knees and moved her queen four spots forwards. The ivory figurine smashed the ebony knight, then took it’s spot with a flourish of bone skirts.

‘How is school going? Have you finalised arrangements for your meeting with the Goblins?’ Herr Lintzen asked as his knight smashed an ivory pawn to pieces.

‘I think so. Theo’s father has agreed to host both myself and Harry for Yule. For some reason Theo thinks he might have a problem with Harry, but he hasn’t elaborated as to what that problem might be.’ She frowned briefly, ‘otherwise, things seem to be coming together.’

‘You all have battle robes to wear?’ Lady Grindelwald checked and Hermione pursed her lips.

‘I’m going to try taking mine back with me tonight. Theo will either have something, or be able to get it made... Harry might be more difficult.’

‘Perhaps something from the armoury here would be suitable? If you can take yours back with you, perhaps you can take some for him as well?’ Herr Lintzen offered. Hermione hummed.

‘Have you chosen your gift?’

‘Yes.’ Hermione’s mind flickered to the treasury at the Barrows where a beautiful hunting bow hung in a carefully embossed case. It was, apparently, a fey bow and was a much more appropriate than a book of heavily enchanted item, although Hermione had wanted to gift a drinking horn that was always full of honey-mead. Apparently, she would probably receive something in return; usually an item for herself that had to be returned upon her death, and an item for her family which they could keep. The wording held great significance in the Goblin world and it was that misunderstanding which had begun to forge such terrible relations between goblins and wizards.

‘Have you studied the ancient relations between your family and the goblin nations.’ Lady Grindelwald demanded again.

Hermione hummed in agreement. ‘What are the plans for Harvest?’ She demanded in return, swiftly changing the subject.

There was a heavy pause. The ritual and preceding celebrations had always been hosted by the Tunninger family in the past at their mansion.

‘Nobody has stepped up to host so far.’ Herr Lintzen admitted. Pain creased Lady Grindelwald’s face.

‘What about us? If we hurried, we could host it.’ She turned to Lady Grindelwald beseechingly.

‘I am not well enough to host.’ The older witch admitted, shamefully. Her legs were healing, but she was still relearning how to walk and it was a painfully slow process.

‘Anneken can step up, I’m sure. I can fill the channel as usual and surely Frau Hassel can be the link?’ Hermione began slowly.

‘Yes, but hosting the event is no small task either.’ Herr Lintzen pointed out and Hermione shrugged.

‘I’m sure between myself and Anneken, we can organise something quickly enough. It might not be exactly what everyone is used to, but something is better than nothing. I think its very important that we remind people of the good parts of the old ways, especially after we’ve just fought over it.’

‘Very well.’ Lady Grindelwald finally acquiesced. ‘Off with you to the Owlery and think up an appropriate bribe to bring Anneken away from Paris whilst you’re at it.’

‘Anneken is easy to bribe. Ill let her dress me.’ Hermione said with a laugh as she skipped from the room. As the door closed gently behind her, she heard Herr Lintzen remark on his admiration for Lady Grindelwald’s ability to raise such devoutly traditional children.

‘The difficulty with those two,’ The high witch griped, ‘is stopping them from trying every piece of ancient magic they stumble across.’


	73. Pumpkin

On his fourth day beneath the fjord, Gellert finally insisted he be allowed to leave. It was Harvest and his prophetic dreams had been back with a vengeance. He didn’t know what they were trying to tell him about Harvest, but he was certain that was the event that he was being warned about. All he could see was Hermione, dressed in glorious gold and white, lifting the crimson-glowing pumpkins to her lips. Again and again and again.

It turned out that their plan to get him back up to the surface was to give him a form of dreamless sleep that would put him into a near-death state for ten minute, and tie him to Kelpie. The neat bubble of air in the cabin that he had lived in for the past few days required ritual ingredients that they just couldn’t acquire at short notice.

As reluctant as he was to enact this plan, he had no other choice if he wanted to make it up to the surface in time for Harvest.

They used a potion to knock him out - a fishy, greenish brown concoction that made evil hissing sounds as he drank it. He was unconscious before he could throw it up.

When he woke again he was freezing cold and dripping, his legs tied painfully tight around Kelpie’s heaving middle and his arms ties around Kelpie’s neck. His face was pushed into the damp black strands of his mane. The air was cool and sweet after the stinking dampness of the underwater bubble, wind stirring his cheeks. They must have emerged only recently as Kelpie was still knee deep in water and breathing hard as he recuperated from what must have been an incredibly hard swim against the current.

‘Kelpie?’ He mumbled into the beast’s neck. Strong muscles stirred beneath him as Kelpie shifted, lifting his head and taking several strides up and out of the water. A sort knicker altered him that they were on dry land and Gellert fumbled, struggling to untie the stiff, slimy rope that bound his hands. As soon as they were free, he sat up, stretching his arms towards the tree canopy above his head and the blue sky beyond it.

They were a fair way further down the fjord than the school, but certainly no more than half an hour’s ride. It was a warm day for Norway’s autumn, the trees sheltering them from the arctic wind yet allowing the morning sun to warm his skin.

‘Feel up to walking?’ He asked Kelpie as his breathing returned to normal. They didn’t set of straight away, Gellert choosing to untie his legs first but as soon as he had Kelpie began to trot along the shoreline, confidently navigating over the rocky shore in bouncing steps that evolved into a loping, mile-eating gallop as they reached flatter sections of beach. With powerful surges of muscles, Kelpie lunged up the steep track, clambering up the steeply wooded sides of the fjord and emerging onto the windswept lawns of the castle. Already, students were riding along the ridge line in their finery; glittering jewels destined for the harvest ball and other, more sedately dressed heading for the Harvest ritual he knew Hermione had organised.

He was a streak of black mount and brown clothes, flying up the grounds and skidding to a muddy halt in the courtyard to cries of protest from a group of girls in massive hooped dresses. He left Kelpie waiting, dashing into the castle and tearing through the corridors.

‘Gellert!’ Berg cried as he burst into the room. Gellert ignored him, scrambling through his belongs with no attention paid to the havoc that had been wreaked upon them.

‘Gellert! You’re back.’ Berg was suddenly in front of him, hands on his shoulders and holding him immobile.

‘Yes. I need to get to Harvest.’ He insisted, twisting out of Berg’s grasp and stripping out of his soiled clothes.

‘What happened? What’s wrong?’ Berg insisted, pulling a fresh white shirt from his own belongings and passing it to Gellert. He nodded his thanks and shrugged the item on along with a fresh set of school uniform trousers.

‘Alice happened. I think she’s going to try something tonight.’ He didn’t have any suitable robes for a Harvest celebration, but he dragged a comb through his hair and splashed fresh water over his face.

‘You’re presentable.’ Berg informed him. His face was pinched with worry.

‘Let’s go.’

‘Tell me what happened as we go. We’re still early.’ Berg insisted, shrugging on his own set of gold and russet robes.

Gellert summarised his story as they walked, including every detail - what Alice had said and his dreams. In return, Berg told him that Alice had said nothing, but that she had been investigated and had somehow provided a solid alibi. Whilst Gellert knew that it had been Alice who duelled him into the fjord, there were seven students - from both sides of the conflict, who also swore she’d been in the library, then lessons for the entire morning on the day he’d gone missing.

How she’d managed to be in two places at once - that was a mystery but by his own memory there was no denying it had happened.

They bandied about several theories, but neither proved more likely than the last and before long they were back in the courtyard. Kelpie was waiting obediently in the middle of the yard, gleaming like a black shadow among the opulently harnessed beasts and gathering quite a crowd.

‘I assume Hermione organised it?’ Gellert asked as a house elf handed him Kelpie’s bridle. He exchanged it for the halter with practiced movements.

‘Along with Anneken. Those two are terrifying.’

‘I’m beginning to think you find all women terrifying.’ Gellert allowed Berg to give him a leg up, then helped tow Berg’s reluctant hippogriff out of the stables and onto the grassy lawn where it would let him mount.

‘Just the women you surround yourself with.’ Berg wheezed as he heaved himself up onto his mount’s back. ‘Meet you there. My chances of getting through all this mud on foot are minimal.’

Gellert nodded and turned Kelpie’s head away, cantering easily along the ridge line as Berg joined the steady stream of winged beasts in the sky.

The teacher looked up in surprise when he reigned in next to the portal, the his eyes widened and his plum hat almost toppled from his head.

‘Herr Grindelwald!’ The teacher stammered. ‘When did you... resurface? Your sister...’

‘I’d like to meet with her immediately, if you’d let me through.’ He interrupted, Berg landing in a whuff of air behind him.

‘Of course, immediately, Herr Grindelwald.’ The teacher scrambled over to open the portal.

‘What exactly did Hermione do this time?’ Gellert demanded in a low voice.

‘Not sure. From what I heard, she just met with him and passed the message on to your mother. Told you you surround yourself with terrifying women.’

The portal shimmered open in front of them and the two boys rode forwards, slipping through the windswept plane and stepping out into the sunny morning light of Fort Stark.

There was a gathering of excited and curious wixen around the portal, and a row of pumpkins carved into an incredible variety of shapes, winding off over the hill.

‘Well, get a move on then.’ Gellert called out, nudging Kelpie through the crowd. ‘It’s pretty obvious where they want you to go!’

With a great murmuring of assent, the crowd trailed after them both. The pumpkin carvings were exquisite - ears of corn, faces, creatures, flowers, stars, moons, castles, broomsticks and cauldrons, family crests both familiar and the simple form of the wolf-dog that adorned Hermione’s own ring.

The trail ended beneath a massive, sprawling cedar tree, huge boughs shading the dusty ground below. There were several events - archery, apple bobbing, pumpkin jinxing and sword fighting were familiar, but there was also skittles and darts, javelin throwing, horse racing and instead of the usual sleipnir race, they would be racing hippocampus across the lake. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, but he spotted Anneken and Krum at the base of the mighty tree where the mounts were being tethered and as the crowd dispersed, he trotted over to them.

‘Gellert!’ Anneken cried, almost dragging him down from Kelpie to hug him.

‘Where’s Hermione?’ he mumbled into her dress.

‘Over by the altar.’ Anneken snagged his sleeve as he tried to hurry off, holding his shoulders firmly and forcing him to stand still whilst she looked him over. ‘When did you get back?’

‘An hour ago, less perhaps. I really have to see Hermione.’

‘Of course, she’s still a bit shaken. She had an encounter with a troll at school. Here, let me clean you up a little first.’ Anneken waved her wand over him several times, first cleaning his skin of odour, then changing the stripe on his trousers to gold to match the festival. Then she released him with a wave of her hand and he hurried away towards the altar, wondering what on earth Hogwarts was doing setting first years against trolls.

The altar was under a massive willow tree, the delicate whips that held the leaves tumbling to the ground in an almost precise circle. Hermione was a pale candle flame against the bough of the tree, her dress pooling around her like melted wax.

‘Hermione?’ He ventured. The witch’s head snapped up and she was across the clearing so quickly that she may as well have apparated. Like Anneken had done, Hermione threw her arms around him and wrapped him in a hug, but she also, in a way that was completely Hermione, hugged him with her magic. He could feel it wash over him, dancing playfully with his own and radiantly warming him.

‘I knew you’d get back. What happened?’ The young witch demanded into his shoulder. He pulled away slightly, noting that there were a couple of small scratches on her face and hands

‘You first. Anneken said you had to fight a troll!’

‘Oh, I did!’ Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Ron accidentally set fire to my hair during charms and I had to go to the bathroom to fix it, but I couldn’t remember the charm! It was awful. Anyway, I was waiting until everyone was at the feast so that I could go to the library to look it up. Somehow, a troll got in and apparently everyone was sent back to their dormitories, of course, Harry and Ron realised that I wouldn’t know and of course, my dormitory is in the dungeons and they were worried the troll would catch me on my way down unescorted, so they came to tell me.’ She paused slightly, hesitating over her words.

‘Well, they haven’t been the best at learning their way around the castle, and they saw the troll coming, they thought they’d lock it into the room it wandered into... well, it turned out that was the bathroom I was in!’

‘No!’ Gellert hissed furiously.

‘Yes! Anyway, luckily they realised that too, because they came in just in time to rescue me.’

‘Rescue you? Surely not, you’re a very powerful witch.’

‘Really. It was a juvenile mountain troll, so it’s skin was almost entirely spell resistant and I wasn’t prepared at all. I managed to trip it up, but the room was so small that it just got really angry. Anyway, Harry and Ron started shouting at it and distracted it just as it was about to hit me with the club, then, I don’t quite know how, Harry jumped on it’s back and stuck his wand up it’s nose - he’s been raised by muggles, I don’t think he knew exactly what he was doing. Then when it flung him off, Ron managed to levitate it’s club and drop it on it’s head, knocking it out.’

‘Where were the teachers?’ Gellert demanded and Hermione shushed him with her hands.

‘They burst in just as the troll collapsed and they were really angry. Of course, they’d all been in the dungeons looking for it, when it was actually on the third floor. Now, you’ve heard my story, how did you end up at the bottom of the lake?’ Hermione folded her hands over her lap and looked at him expectantly. He sighed, hoping his mother at least understood the severity of the risk placed upon Hermione’s life and had properly disciplined the Hogwart’s staff.

‘It was Alice.’ He said lowly and Hermione gasped furiously. He grabbed at her wrist, holding her down before she could storm off. ‘I was practicing my sword forms on the edge of the fjord and Alice found me. I didn’t want to break the treaty, so I backed into the water, hoping that Kelpie would come and rescue me. Then, before he could get there, Alice tried to attack me. Her spell was so strong that I fell over on the slippery rocks and I was washed under before I could do anything. The current is very strong, and I was dragged down. I almost drowned. Then, when I woke up again, Kelpie had found a Mer village and they’d brought me into a special air bubble. It took me a couple of days to recover enough to make the trip back up to the surface.’

‘That cow! How did she do it, there were so many people that witnessed her in the school at the time?’ Hermione spat. She wouldn’t be carrying her wand, she very rarely did when her wandless magic was as good as it was and she needed to wear a dress where concealment would be difficult. If she was, he imagined she would have already drawn it and been stomping off to the ministry to dispute Alice’s protection under the treaty.

‘We don’t know, we need to figure that out first before we accuse her of anything. What’s more important though is that my dreams are back.’

‘Your dreams, as in your prophetic dreams?’ She demanded.

‘Yes, the same one again and again.’

‘What about?’ The vision flashed before his eyes, Hermione lifting the pumpkin up to her lips.

He told her, giving his wise, wonderful younger sister every insignificant detail he could think of. She listened attentively, nodding along and making noises of understanding.

‘I assume its warning us about danger. The last ones were, right?’ Hermione confirmed, leaning back and drumming her fingers against the altar.

‘I get a feeling of urgency with it, but there’s nothing that says what is going to go wrong.’ He slammed his fist into his leg in an attempt to express his frustration. Hermione frowned sharply at the movement.

‘Okay, lets think about this logically, what could go wrong?’

Gellert looked at her incredulously.

‘Come on, okay, the ritual itself could go wrong. My part wouldn’t, my family magic wouldn’t let it but Anneken’s would. What would happen if her part went wrong?’

‘Nothing, the bull’s blood would just be blood. Your magic is so active during rituals that you don’t really need her to guide it.’ Gellert replied, ‘if the link didn’t get her part right, the blessing would just be weak.’ He considered carefully.

‘Alice can’t get into the ritual.’ Hermione added confidently and Gellert looked around for a ward or barrier.

‘There’s no barrows here...’ He trailed off and Hermione grinned.

‘The willow.’ She said smugly, ‘is buried over the body of one of the earliest Lintzen Matriarchs. Which means that everything inside the reach of her branches is protected.’

‘Guaranteed?’ Gellert checked.

‘Well no, but they’d have to get through her, Mordred and the Tunningers, who’ve offered to help her somehow... I don’t understand exactly what the dead can and can’t do, but they were all pretty confident they could keep us safe.’

‘Right... what else...’ Nothing else jumped to mind. Nothing, that is, that wasn’t absolutely ridiculous like being struck by lightning or being trampled by rampaging hippocampus.

‘You’ll just have to be ready with your wand, okay.’ She instructed. Gellert grimaced. He had no idea where his wand had gone, perhaps it might eventually wash up somewhere but for now it was lost. He would have to procure a replacement which was unfortunate because despite it’s rough look, he had become attached to his first one.

‘I lost it.’ He admitted. Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth.

‘Oh! Are you okay? I know you really liked it.’

‘It’s okay. Berg might be able to summon it back for me.’ He suggested optimistically and Hermione nodded fervently. Berg might not be able to, but Hermione certainly would. Perhaps he could get her to search for it during the holidays?

‘You can borrow mine for now. I’ll go an grab it, and a cloak for you too...’

‘I’m coming. You’re not going to be alone for a minute tonight.’ He vowed. What he could actually do without a wand was minimal, he wasn’t the wandless powerhouse that she was. Perhaps he could punch Alice in the nose? He flexed his fist experimentally.

The walk to the house was a reasonable distance and Hermione’s dress was very pale, so in the interest of keeping it clean, he fetched their mounts. Katana greeted Kelpie with his usual screeches and nickers, then offered the same to Gellert as he reached up to stroke his scaled snout. As usual, he was struck by just how massively tall Katana was, towering even over the tall shoulders of Kelpie and almost as tall as a Sleipnir. Hermione must have been riding him hard over the past weeks; his shoulders and quarters were heavily corded with muscle and his scales gleamed like polished moonlight. He hadn’t yet shed his antlers, but Gellert could smell the sweet potion that Hermione used to ease the itching when they became loose.

He helped her up, shaking his head as she hiked up her skirts to ride astride instead of sidesaddle like she really should with a dress like that. Ankles, and their exposure remained a topic of debate between them.

They caught up as they rode, Hermione mentioning that she would be meeting with the goblins over Yule and telling him about her Hogwarts house. It was wonderful to just ride together under the fading warmth of the autumn sun, talking about school and homework like every other person in the world.

Their stop in the castle was brief, Hermione found him a cloak and picked up her wand, holding it out to him. Her wand liked him well enough; it certainly wasn’t a matched wand, but it would channel his magic if he asked it to.

They arrived back just in time for a go at pumpkin jinxing before the horn called them to the feast. For something planned in a matter of days, the feast was spectacular. There were no tables, instead they all sat on long, tartan blankets stretched out along the grass. The food was served on a single long, groaning table and they had to take their plates up to fill, then return to their seats. It was fun and forced everyone to unbend a little; sitting at whatever spot was free on the blankets forced him to talk to people he wouldn’t usually.

By the time the ritual was due to begin, magic was already humming in the air.

In the darkness, the ritual area looked stunning. It glowed golden in the light of carved pumpkins and hundreds of floating candles. The produce at the foot of the altar was plump and rosy; the picture of plenty. Upturned faced glowed in the soft light as people took in the spectacle and gold glittered warmly on their clothing. Gellert joined the men just inside the ring of branches, scanning the crowd with both his magic and his eyes to search for threats. Hermione’s wand was already clenched in his fist, concealed within the wide sleeve of the robe she’d found for him.

He saw nothing, he felt nothing. The ritual began, Hermione’s family magic unfolding, awaking, reaching out with it’s ancient, magnificent power. He forcefully ignored it’s beckoning, refocusing on the surroundings. There were four magical presences, standing at the cardinal points around the perimeter of the tree. He could feel their awareness, even as he realised he couldn’t see them. Investigating further, he felt the dark flames of Mordred and bright, green floral tones that were unmistakably feminine but wild with old magic. He assumed that was the Lintzen Matriarch beneath the tree, watching over the ritual.

Hermione stepped out onto the altar; her skin glowed like a true sun, magical wind whipping around her with enough ferocity to send the candles guttering. Her family spoke through her mouth, ancient and strong as she passed the pumpkin to Anneken. Anneken, gothically beautiful in her black dress, slaughtered the bull and Gellert looked around once more, checking for danger.

He saw nothing.

Exactly as she had in his dream, Hermione lifted the pumpkin to her lips.

She drank it, flaming liquid lighting her skin on fire.

She stepped to the edge of the altar, a single delicate hand reaching for the star of magic between the link’s fingers. With a flash of light and a crack of thunder, the two magics melded. Wind roared through the clearing and Gellert leaned into it. Hermione was obscured by thrown up dust and leaves, yet the wind continued to build. A hand snatched at his shoulder as he was almost shoved backwards by the force of the gusts. A pointed hat spiralled haphazardly past his shoulder and the man behind him swore at it hit.

A second hand appeared on his shoulder, and Mordred materialised in front of him. He looked very pale, his incorporeal form unaffected by the wind by marked by strain and worry.

‘Something’s wrong!’ The spirit bellowed.

‘What?’ Gellert shouted back.

‘She’s dying.’

Ice tipped down his spine and settled in his stomach.

‘How? What do we do?’

‘Badesar!’ Mordred shouted ‘She needs a Badesar.’

Then Berg was there, his robe whipping around him.

‘What’s happening?’ Berg hollered.

‘She’s been poisoned. Her magic is trying to protect her.’ Mordred shouted over the wind.

‘What’s a Badesar?’ Gellert demanded urgently.

‘Bezoar. Old word for Bezoar.’ Berg answered.

‘Flighty!’ Gellert bellowed. The answering crack was almost lost in the wind.

‘Yous called.’ The squeaky voice rose tremulously over the roaring wind. ‘Missy Hermione is very sick.’

‘Find a Bezoar. Quickly.’ He ordered. Flighty disappeared, then reappeared barely two seconds later with a large pouch.

‘Flighty has.’

He snatched up bag, chucking everything aside in his haste to reach what he needed. He shoved the almost empty bag in Berg’s hands and, clutching the small stone. It was like swimming against the current again. Hermione’s magic was uncontrolled, forcing everyone and everything away and it did not discriminate between him and the enemy it believed was attacking it. Mordred guided him, his ethereal form unaffected by the force. It was like an obstacle course - pumpkins rolled across the ground, bouncing like tumbleweed whilst apples rolled underfoot to trip him.

Hermione lay sprawled across the altar, fire still licking her skin and charring the wooden surface beneath her. Thin streams of blood trickled from her mouth and nose, steaming and sizzling against the heated wood.

The faded protection rune on his shoulder flared as he pushed his hand through her flames and forced the small stone into her mouth. A moment later, she swallowed.

She screamed, accompanied by a pulse of powerful magic, her back arching off the ground. Then fell silent.

The wind died, leaves and dust settling quietly in the sudden deafening absence of noise. Around them, wixen clambered to their feet, missing hats and robes, battered by twigs and fruit.

‘What happened.’ Someone asked.

‘I need a healer.’ Gellert shouted. ‘A healer, someone. She’s been poisoned!’

There was a stirring of movement, then Herr Friedl hurried out from the back of the crowd. A witch came forwards as well, peach smeared over her sleeve and her hair blown out of it’s neat bun.

‘How?’ Herr Friedl demanded, kneeling beside the unconscious witch. Gellert looked to Mordred who shrugged and with no better ideas, Gellert reached for the carved pumpkin, caught against the bull’s carcass.

‘I think this.’

The witch took it, pulling out her wand and casting a host of detection charms until one shimmered golden.

‘He’s right. There’s an incredibly high concentration of some kind of herbicide, perhaps Grow-Green or Gallix’s Grass Growth Solution.’ She confirmed and Herr Friedl clucked his tongue in concern. He too was casting a rapid series of diagnostics and his expression was not reassuring.

‘Did you give her a bezoar?’ He eventually demanded and Gellert nodded mutely. ‘Good, best thing for her. Send an elf for another, we’ll make sure we’ve gotten the entire dose neutralised.’

Berg, who had crowded up behind him mutely passed the bag and Herr Friedl grunted in appreciation, opening her mouth and spelling her to swallow another one of the bobbly stones.

Several other coven members were crowded around them now, blocking out the curious public. Anneken, who’d received the worst blast of Hermione’s magic, had a torn dress and ears of corn all through her hair. She was shepherding people away towards the fireside and instructing them to carry on. Faintly, music started up.

‘There’s strong traces of the herbicide in the bull’s blood.’ Frau Hassel reported smartly, standing up form where she too had been casting diagnostics.

‘Impossible, the fields were sprayed months ago. There should be no trace of it left in their system.’ Herr Lintzen huffed.

‘The concentration would put it at being sprayed two days ago.’ Frau Hassel emphasised.

‘Impossible! Fungus!’ Herr Lintzen bellowed. Fungus must have been the name of the house elf that appeared a moment later, swaying on the spot. A second elf popped up next to him a moment later, her little Lintzen crested sheet crumpled and messy.

‘Blossoms is apologising, Master. Fungus is very sick.’ The elf bowed until her long nose almost touched the ground and dragged a slightly baffled Fungus into doing the same.

‘Looks like a powerful confundus at least.’ Frau Fleiss observed.

‘There’s traces of powerful but rudimentary healing magic, I assume her Sect tried to intervene and heal her, she would have been dead in seconds otherwise.’ Herr Friedl concluded from his spot on the ground.

‘So someone tried to kill her?’ Anneken demanded, having returned from the fire.

‘And damn near succeeded.’ Her Lintzen had gone purple with fury and the two elves were in tears at his feet.Blossom was begging to not be given clothes. ‘Oh shush. This was not your doing, Blossom. Fetch me small vials, Fungus might have seen who it was that confounded him.’

‘Doubtful, this was a very well planned attack. Hermione always wears her crown and the protective charms on that are unbelievable, her food is tasted, she cares for her own beast... I imagine this is the first time anyone has had a chance to get to her. They must have known exactly what the ritual involves and what would get past the protections.’ Frau Lintzen added. She had wrapped her hand firmly around her husband’s arm and looked very pale.

‘What is your prognosis? Someone will need to break the news to Katerina.’ Herr Lintzen directed towards Herr Freidl and the healer-witch.

‘Good, her Sect’s efforts protected her from the worst of the damage and Gellert’s quick administration of a Bezoar neutralised most of the poison. I’d like to perform more diagnostics, but I hope that a round of rehydration potions should have her back to normal.’

‘Wonderful news.’ Several members of the coven sagged in relief. It seemed nobody had wanted to face his mother with bad news. With the healers now acting with less urgency, Gellert leaned forwards to get his own look at Hermione.

She was very, very pale. Her hair was splayed darkly around her face, and her lashes were dark feathers against her almost blue cheeks.

‘I’ll get Katana to carry her back to the castle.’ Gellert offered, receiving a quick nod from the healers. He hurried out of the circle and over to where Berg was hovering nervously. He updated his adopted brother quickly and Berg’s tense features relaxed fractionally.

‘I’ll follow you up to the castle.’ Berg helped him up onto Katana’s towering back, then trotted over to his hippogriff as Gellert nudged the beast across to the huddle around the altar. A space was opened up for him to get through and Herr Lintzen lifted Hermione up and placed her securely in front of him. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and once more Gellert remarked over how light she was.

As soon as she was secure, he wrapped an arm around her waist and took the reins in the other. Without prompting, the beast spread his huge wings and swept into the air. Berg was already winging his way towards the castle, moonlight reflecting off his beast’s feathers. Katana was a much faster flier, and even at his smoothest, most stable, he shot past them like an arrow from a bow. They landed in the courtyard barely a blink later where three elves were already waiting to take her to bed.

‘It was Alice again, I know it.’ Berg spat furiously.

‘Can we prove it though? She’ll have an alibi again.’ Gellert replied bitterly. Of all the stupid things to go wrong, neither of them had even considered something like that. He had assumed the blood would somehow be cleansed by the ritual, but the evidence that it wasn’t now stared him in the face.

‘She’ll try again.’ He cautioned

‘I know. We just need to figure out how she’s doing it. If we can do that, we can catch her in the act.’

‘But she’ll try again.’

‘And we’ll keep foiling her. Eventually she’ll slip up.’

‘She better. If she succeeds...’ Berg trailed off.

‘I’d kill her.’ Gellert vowed. ‘Damn the treaty, I’d kill her.’


	74. Nott

The train left the station with a clatter of sharp hoot of steam, building speed quickly as it drew away from the station.

Harry and Ron were at one end of the compartment, muttering conspiratorially about something, whilst Hermione and Theo sat near the door, sharing their own muttered conversation. This one in particular had been trodden many, many times.

‘I don’t understand why you need him. He’s lazy, uneducated and completely boring.’ Theo moaned, once more glaring balefully at the red-head near the window.

‘He is, but he’s also brave and even if his family isn’t influential, they’re a link to that political bloc and he did save my life. Besides, I’m not asking you to be his friend, I just want you to stop being nasty to him.’

‘I’m not nasty. I just think he’s useless.’ Theo protested.

‘He’s not useless. If we can influence him, thats one more person supporting us instead of Dumbledore.’

‘Half a person. You’d be better off cultivating the prefect, at least he’s intelligent and ambitious.’

‘Oh come off it!’ She scoffed, ‘he’s ambitious, but he’s so rigid.’

Theo laughed at her wrinkled nose, as if someone had put dirty socks in her face.

‘Fine. He’s not coming to mine though.’

‘Of course not.’ She soothed. Theo shuffled, still clearly unhappy with the situation and she knew that they would have the same argument again, probably on the train home again once he’d formulated some new points.

‘What do you think they’re talking about?’ Theo asked after a moment. Hermione glanced at the two boys. She’d asked much the same question after seeing Ron in the library, sans sandwich and reading an unusually dry, heavy looking book.

‘Some philosopher. Flamel, I think.’

‘The name sounds familiar, what do they want him for?’

‘No idea.’ She shrugged, reaching down and pulling out her Potions homework. Theo nodded and did the same. Unlike the Gryffindors, the two Slytherins had no intention of doing their homework in a hurry on the train back to school.

They had aching hands by the time the train pulled into London, however both of them had completed two of their three assignments. Ron and Harry had played chess, gobstones and discussed their philosopher for several hours. They had left all of their uniforms at school, but both Theo and Harry had left their robes off until the last possible moment in the warmth of the carriage. Ron sneered at the wizarding clothing and slouched out in his jeans and jersey to meet his brothers on the platform.

The remaining trio gathered their trunks and with a bit of advanced wand work well beyond their years, levitated them off the train with only a couple of bumps. There was a slight pause on the platform as Theo got his bearings, then he headed straight for the large fireplace at the end of the platform. Hermione followed quickly with Harry trailing just behind her.

‘Have you ever used floo powder before?’ She asked, realising that there was a very high chance he hadn’t.

‘No?’ Harry answered quickly, looking slightly nervous.

‘It’s pretty easy. You can go with me.’ She assured him as Theo stopped. They were the first ones to reach the floos and Hermione realised that Theo’s father probably wasn’t coming to meet them on the platform. It was rather sad, to not have someone to greet them but hardly unusual when someone considered that he was pureblood.

‘It’s Nott Manor.’ Theo told them as he pulled a handful of floo powder from the bowl near the fireplace. Hermione nodded and watched as he lined himself and his trunk up in the fireplace, then he was gone in a roar of green flame.

Harry looked very pale.

‘Make sure you tuck your elbows in nice and tight.’Hermione advised, positioning him in the fireplace, then squeezing in next to him with her own trunk. She raised her hand, shouted out their destination and chucked down the powder.

She was lucky to land rather elegantly, her trunk propping her up. The unfortunate consequence was that Harry was sent sprawling across the polished floor and his trunk skidded out after him. He jumped up, cheeks flaming and bowed in the direction of the polished shoes.

‘Harry Potter.’ A cool, aristocratic voice remarked. Hermione’s eyes darted over to take in Lord Nott for the first time. He was very old, his beard and moustache trimmed to fall in a long, pointed tail which brushed his belt. He wore battlerobes, cut in a different style to any Hermione had ever seen - an embroidered fabric vest over black, otherwise plain, long sleeved robes. His head was bare and his dark, beady eyes took in every detail of her in the same way she looked at him.

‘Lord Nott,’ Hermione greeted with a slight incline of her head.

‘High Priestess.’ Lord Nott greeted in return, dropping to bended knee in a deep bow. Hermione’s eyes widened, taken aback. A small bow was more than appropriate from a Patriarch, especially whilst he was hosting her and she was still underage. This complete prostration was more than unusual.

‘Lord Nott, such deference is not necessary. I am a guest in your home.’ She reminded him, feeling very awkward and more than glad for the hours of etiquette she’d been put though by both Anneken and Lady Grindelwald. This exact situation hadn’t been covered, but there were enough similar scenarios that she could borrow from one of them.

‘You honour me with your words, High Priestess.’ Lord Nott replied, then seemed to almost jump in surprise when he noticed that she’d offered a hand to help him stand. Had he expected her to be so set in her superiority that she wouldn’t respect his own rank? Not to mention the kneeling position must be agonising to his elderly frame.

He did take her hand, but he didn’t pull to heavily on it and a moment later he was standing again and shaking down his robes. With his greeting made to Hermione, who was the highest ranking, he then turned to Harry, who was a Patriarch yet underage, so ranked under Lord Nott.

‘Mister Potter.’ He dipped his head and Harry, still red in the face and looking flustered from his tumble bowed in reply. It was an awkward and unfamiliar move, but the boy managed to pull it off without causing offence, so Hermione considered that a win on Harry’s part. ‘Theodore tells me you were sent to be raised by Muggles.’

Harry glanced back at Hermione uncertainly and she nodded at him encouragingly.

‘Yes, Sir.’ He answered. ‘He... Er, the High Priestess has been teaching me.’ Lord Nott shook his head disapprovingly.

‘That never should have happened. If your parents somehow failed to assign a guardian, you should have gone to the Black family; Walburga and Cygnus were still around then, or even Narcissa...’

‘I’m sorry Sir, I don’t know the Black family.’ Harry said apologetically and Hermione hastily concealed a wince.

‘Don’t know the Blacks? They’re the most ancient house in the country, perhaps with the exception of your own, High Priestess.’ Lord Nott amended, dipping his head quickly in Hermione’s direction.

‘Forgive his ignorance, Lord Nott. We have not yet covered genealogy, I have been focusing on the fundamental errors in magical understanding taught at Hogwarts.’ She interrupted before Harry could dig himself deeper.

‘Oh?’ Lord Nott asked, turning back to face her.

‘Perhaps your son might demonstrate?’ She waved Theo forwards. Like Gellert once had when facing up to his mother, Theo had gone very pale and when his father turned to him, he bowed deeply, remaining bent over until he was told to rise. ‘The candlestick would work, Hermione instructed.’

There was a moment of tense silence as Theo readied himself, his father watching on curiously. Then, he reached out his hand and Hermione felt his magic wrap around the candlestick and jerk it into his waiting hand. Perhaps he hadn’t been convinced it would work this time, with his father watching because Theo’s eyes went almost as wide as his father’s.

‘Very impressive, High Priestess. A useful party trick, I’m sure.’

‘Oh, It’s much more than a party trick, I assure you.’ She said darkly. Perhaps, by defending Harry and offering him a hand up, she’d accidentally portrayed herself as weak. That was easily rectified, she held out her hands to either side of her and poured out her magic. There wasn’t much to work with - they were deep within the manor and the air was very dry, but she had been doing this for months and she knew how to take advantage of whatever she was presented with. She twisted her magic, spinning the air around the room, faster and faster until it was whipping at their robes. She sparked static through the air and lightning snapped in unison. Moisture was more tricky, but she could fabricate that on such a small scale so she took a risk and let her magic stir the air without guidance. With her right hand still casting little bursts of lightning, she added a fine mist of steam with her right. It billowed up into clouds and she stopped, allowing the winds to settle. With a slight nudge, she cooled the air near the ceiling and the clouds cooled, dissolving into a light spattering of rain.

It was one of the most complex pieces of spellwork she’d ever attempted, insofar as having several different pieces of magic happening at the same time. She loved it.

She wasn’t the only one, Harry was grinning whilst Theo watched with contentment. Lord Nott just gaped. With a final, particularly bright flash of lightning, she allowed the weather pattern to disperse and waved her hand to vanish the damp film across the polished marble floor.

‘My my, the blood of Gorlois does run true.’ His face lit up with a grin that completely transformed him. ‘I doubted you, My Lady but your gift is something to behold. Yet it is borne behind benevolence and honour like nothing I have seen in a revolutionary before. Theodore, I envy you; to be the peer of such a witch.’

Gobsmacked at the praise, Theo’s eyes darted between Hermione and his father.

‘Forgive an old man’s ramblings, welcome to Nott Manor. Theodore will show you around and I will see you for dinner.’ Lord Nott bowed his way backwards out of the room and the three of them finally relaxed.

‘Blimey, I don’t think I’ll ever be stiff enough for all this stuff.’ Harry slumped exaggeratedly and adjusted his robes. Theo laughed, plucking at his own robes. Unlike Harry, he was completely at ease in his robes and he looked very dashing in the smokey grey. There was something about Harry’s messy hair that made him look perpetually out of place in smart clothing.

‘That was amazing magic, Hermione.’ Theo applauded and she smiled demurely.

‘I’ve done bigger enchantments, but it was tricky with so little to work with. Now, lets get out of here, I’ve never been to a manor before.’ She shooed him out of the room, leaving their trunks for the elves to deal with.

They exited the floo room into a massive corridor that looked almost like it had been carved from a single tree. Parquet floors, polished to a high shine swept up into exquisitely finished timber walls, the grains of the timbers all aligned to form pretty patterns. Harry’s mouth had dropped open but neither Slytherin noticed, hardly phased by the opulence.

‘So, if you’ve never seen a manor, what property does the Grindelwald family own? I was under the impression that they were titled.’ Theo asked conversationally.

‘There was a castle, Blau Berg. It was massive with an underground cavern system that housed the entire magical population of Germany in times of danger. There was a muggle repelling charm which reached over the entire mountain range, full of magical beasts. Gellert brought back a Roc from Iran once, but I think it ended up going wild after the Revolution.’ She sighed heavily. ‘After the castle was brought down in the final battle of the revolution, the family moved to Fort Stark, it was another castle... very different though; more like a British one.’

They passed through a wide doorway and crossed a towering balcony which looked over a great hall, old stone had been panelled over and a massive over mantle towered up to the ceiling, proudly displaying an exquisitely carved rendition of the Nott crest.

‘And the Gorlois family? They must have some holding left?’

‘Yes, the Barrows. Its got the biggest ritual circle in the world and the most powerful set of protective enchantments I’ve ever seen. It’s very old though - it was built long before my family took the name of Gorlois.’

‘Well, er... the tour. That’s the hall, but we don’t usually hold balls anymore, the library is just down those stairs and on the right. This is the oak room, we can use this room. Father rarely leaves the North Wing. Hermione, you can have the White room, just through here. Harry and I will be on the next floor.’

Hermione opened the door that Theo had shown her, and stepped into a room like nothing she’d ever seen. The castles that she spent most of her wizarding time in were all old, draughty andand that meant the private rooms were relatively small, usually only a single room and there were instead a large number of common rooms. This Manor House was very different; the White Room was actually a whole series of rooms; there was a living room, painted predictably white and decorated with beautifully embroidered tapestries depicting trees against a creamy background. They matched the furniture which was upholstered in the same minty green colour and a massive pair of windows soared up to the six meter high ceiling, allowing in the purple hued evening light.

There was a bedroom in the same colour scheme, with a huge double four poster bed and another tall window. Her trunk was already unpacked, her belongings spread over the vanity table where the mirror was inspecting her beauty products critically.

Hermione ignored it and ventured into one of the two doors on the far wall; the first was a massive dressing room where her belonging had been hung, taking up a small fraction of the space. There were also a couple of spare cloaks and hats, but the room looked very barren. The other room was a bathroom. This too was themed around white and green and was a gallery of the finest marble, from the floor to the walls and the gold trimmed bath. The shelves above the sink and around the bath were laden with products and potions, some medicinal and others clearly meant to make the bath, which had thirteen taps, even more luxurious.

She left the bathroom and returned to the sitting room, making a beeline to the bookshelf. The texts here were somewhat random and certainly nothing was of particular depth or complexity, but there was a copy of the fashion magazine that she often saw Pansy and Daphne giggling over. Out of interest she picked it up and headed over to the window seat.

It was a rather wonderful seat, she decided quickly. Blau Berg had offered a spectacular view of the castle itself; white spears with dark blue roofs against the deep emerald and dark stone of the mountain range behind it. Fort Stark was lower and looked out over idyllic rolling parkland but Nott Manor offered an aerial view of the meticulously cultivated gardens. Even in winter, white blossoms seemed to glow in the fading light, trained over trellises and dotting exquisitely trimmed topiaries.

An elf appeared after an hour or so, drawing her a bath to her exact specifications and helping her wash her hair with strong, confident fingers that left her scalp tingling in delight. Then she was helped out and into a fresh set of sapphire robes and the elf braided her hair. She missed the gossip with Flighty; although this elf was equally as efficient, she didn’t even know its name, let alone hear all about the day’s dramas among the staff. She was done at the exact moment the boys knocked on her door, also washed and dressed in fresh robes.

‘You look great, Hermione.’ Harry told her and she poked him teasingly.

‘I look exactly the same as normal.’ She pointed out and Harry shrugged.

‘I’ve been trying to teach him more etiquette, Hermione.’ Theo exclaimed in exasperation. ‘It would help if you responded like you should to a compliment.’

‘Fine.’ She rolled her eyes and curtsied with mocking depth. ‘You look dashing as well, Mister Potter. Those robes complement your hair wonderfully.’

Laughing and making up ridiculous complements, they trailed Theo down the maze of polished wooden corridors. Decorations had appeared in the hour that they were in their rooms, garlands of holly, and pine cones decorated every door whilst emerald and silver streamers draped across the architraves and framed the portraits. Pomanders and fir boughs filled the corridors with a warm, festive scent.

The dining room was far too large for four people. A table that could easily have sat twenty was laid at only one end with silver, goblin forged plates and cutlery. Candelabras lit the glittering array and gas lights flickered warmly against dark panelled walls. Lord Nott was already there, seated unconventionally to the side of the head seat, which remained unlaid. He had changed into maroon robes and he jumped up to guide Hermione to her seat opposite his own. He had Harry seated at her side and Theo at his own right hand. There was significance to the place settings, but Hermione couldn’t quite place what it was exactly.

Dinner was a spectacular affair; roast duck with a thick plum sauce and crispy salad, golden roast potatoes and rich, creamy carrots still sticky with the caramelised juices from the duck. The conversation mostly concerned her upcoming visit to the Goblins but as dessert was served - rich sticky toffee pudding with vanilla custard and sweet fresh strawberries, conversation turned to the Yule plans.

‘There is the unfortunate matter of the Winter Ball.’ Lord Nott speared a strawberry with unnecessary aggression.

‘I must admit, I have never heard of it. Lady Grindelwald believes in the traditional Yule ritual celebrations on the solstace.’ Hermione admitted, garnering some measure of interest from the patriarch.

‘Fascinating. Perhaps at some point you would humour an old man and talk me through the ritual. There is very little written information of them, from what I can tell they were usually passed on by word of mouth. Very few accounts survive.’

‘Certainly.’ Hermione agreed, ‘but what about the Winter Ball.’

‘It’s hosted by the Malfoys each year. It is, in essence, a pretentious display of wealth and opulence designed to wow those who are lesser. However, failure to attend would have unfortunate repercussions on all of your reputations.’

‘Draco Malfoy does not believe me to be anything more than a new blood with some archaic agreement with the Grindelwald family.’

‘Lucius has instructed him, I imagine.’ Lord Nott sneered. ‘He came to me, I imagine as soon as he received word of your name to ask if it was possible. I told him, of course, of your line and that I believed you to be of more ancient magic than all of us. Theodore had already confirmed your seal.’

‘So Lord Malfoy didn’t believe you?’ Harry confirmed curiously.

‘Oh, I believe he did, but the idea that a line might have been reborn from muggles repulses him. He does not wish to bow to a Mudblood. If he can quash you quickly, he will never have to acknowledge the respect you deserve.’

‘Father!’ Theo pleaded quietly and his father shot him an exasperated look.

‘However, as my guest he can not refuse you.’ Lord Nott finished father smugly.‘If only I could introduce you to Abraxas too, but unfortunately he’s now chained down with dragon pox.’

He didn’t sound very sorry at all, in fact Hermione thought he might be quite happy about the affliction that had struck down his peer. In fact he seemed rather smug about being the one to introduce her to society, which she found very reassuring. It meant that the Lord Nott fully believed she would be as great as she intended to be, and his faith would go a long way to making that happen.


	75. Paris

Gellert couldn’t remember the last time he’d ridden in the carriage; there were very few places that his family frequented that couldn’t be accessed by the portal network or floo. The wizarding district of Paris was not accessible by either, which meant Anneken had procured her family carriage for the weekend and in the spirit of festivity, the men had been dragged along with the women.

It was fortunate that the Lintzen carriage was so large, Gellert thought as he piled into a room with Berg. Hermione and his mother were sharing another, Anneken and her betrothed took the third whilst there was an entire suite of rooms for Herr and Frau Lintzen. Gellert and Berg’s room had a forward facing window which allowed a view of the ten mighty sleipnir it would take to pull the massive carriage. The beasts huffed and puffed, their breath steaming in the cold winter morning. Liveried blankets covered each beast, keeping them warm whilst the passengers settled themselves and elves loaded food and luggage.

The two boys stripped off their fur hats and gloves and shoved them onto their beds before hurrying back into the main living areas; such a journey was far too exciting to remain cooped up in their bedroom.

Anneken looked like she was wearing a skirt of house elves as she strode out between the main doors. Four elves scurried around her, taking instructions and delegating orders to a constantly shifting stream of younger elves. Meanwhile a long train of elves trailed at her heels, burdened by crates and barrels, towering piles of boxes and baskets of cloth. She barely even acknowledged them, except to take Gellert’s hand for assistance up the steep steps. Krum, her fiancé, arrived a moment later with a very stressed expression and a pile of thick books that looked to relate to his potions study, and Gellert couldn’t help but wonder if he’d really realised how much of a whirlwind Anneken could be when it came to organising and social events. Never-the-less, Krum hurried into the carriage and into his room with his books and one of Anneken’s elves was swiftly dispatched to fetch him ink and parchment.

Finally came the moment he’d been waiting month for; his mother emerged from the left wing. She leant heavily on an ornately inscribed staff, gifted to her by Hermione’s family and virtually glowing with powerful healing magic. Hermione supported her other hand, helping the older witch across the slippery cobblestones in a slow and cautious shuffle. Despite the obvious frailty in her movement, his mother was still a witch to be reckoned with, and she presented herself as such. Her entire frame was swathed in a luxurious grey cloak, trimmed with thick fur that fell in swathes to the floor and trailed behind her. Gellert hurried forwards to take Hermione’s place at his mother’s arm and was surprised to realise how little the matriarch had been relying on her. His mother’s fingers barely ghosted along his forearm.

‘Your hair is a mess, make sure you tie it back.’ His mother informed him tartly as they reached the carriage and he helped her up the stairs.

‘I rather like it like that.’ Hermione contradicted from behind her, bouncing slightly. Lady Grindelwald levelled a scowl at her which Hermione shrugged off easily.

‘I we let you choose your own clothing and hair, you’d look like an urchin off the street.’ His mother replied disparaging and Hermione grinned.

‘Oh, you know I wouldn’t. Some of what you’ve all been saying has stuck.’

Gellert rolled his eyes, interrupting yet another of the brewing debates over the dress Hermione was to be wearing for the Winter Ball she’d been invited to in England.

‘I think I’ll get it cut.’

Both women looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

‘Look, like this.’ He fluffed up his hair until it barely grazed his collar, grinning. He fully expected his mother to react with outrage at the suggestion and he was surprised when she hummed in consideration.

‘I think you’d look rather dashing with it like that.’ Anneken informed him breezily from the doorway to what was presumably the elves’ kitchens and storage rooms. Gellert gaped at the witches, then shook his head and took the cloak from his mother, hanging it on a hook near the door. He just didn’t understand them in the slightest.

He led his mother to the chair closest to the fire and lit it with a jab of his finger, sending smoke puffing up the chimney. There were blankets over the arm of one of the chairs, and he fetched on for her, allowing his mother to spread it over her legs as a shield against the heat she was still sensitive to. Hermione returned a moment later from the large, built in bookshelf behind the dining table with three large books beneath her arms.

She dropped them onto the coffee table with a heavy thunk that earned her an absent minded scolding that suggested his mother was more than used to her doing that. Then, as Hermione read out the titles of each book, Gellert settled himself into a chair with a good view of the doorway.

Herr Lintzen, dressed in a crimson cloak that could have come straight from Durmstrang was bustled in by his wife who was spelling creases out of his trousers. He was gruffly arguing that he wasn’t late, even as they moved off with a jerk which sent the lamps swaying and sent the gilded lions of the many crests around the room glittering.

Anneken reappeared a moment later, heaving a sigh as she sat down in the remaining armchair and propped her feet up on a carved wooden footstool.

‘How is Krum’s studying going?’ Berg asked her.

‘I’d probably know if Hermione didn’t keep piling events on me.’ Anneken glanced over at Hermione who looked up from the runic copy of Beedle the Bard that had been Gellert’s first gift to her.

‘You love it.’ Hermione replied blandly.

‘Only because I know you’ll need a dress for it.’ Anneken winked at her and Hermione rolled her eyes.

‘I know you’re just using me to get to Atalanta.’ Hermione jabbed back. Gellert knew there was no way that was Anneken’s only reasoning for wanting to be close to Hermione, but he was willing to bet access to the young and talented seamstress’ apprentice was no small bonus. Atalanta, his mother and Anneken had been secreted away for half the holidays so far designing the dress that Hermione would be wearing to her debut in British magical society.

‘Talking of which, I haven’t seen you practicing yet this morning.’ His mother interrupted and Gellert stifled a groan. Whilst he enjoyed dancing with Hermione when he knew the dances, the stuffy and overly complex dances that he was having to learn just to be her partner were unbearable. Hermione on the other hand jumped up with eagerness that he was certain was born from watching his struggling to remember dances he’d learned when he was seven and hadn’t taken part in since.

‘Ah, Entertainment.’ Herr Lintzen huffed, waving his hand and sending all the furniture skidding to the edges of the room, creating a small floor in the middle that could be used for dancing.

‘Don’t be too smug, Berg.’ Anneken warned. ‘You’ll be her partner next, and I’ll be expecting a a Volta from you.’

Berg groaned and buried his face into his lap, his ears flaming red. Hermione, who now stood next to Gellert in the middle of the floor rose up onto her tiptoes to whisper into his ear.

‘Let’s do a waltz.’ She suggested and he barely kept his jaw from dropping open.

‘No!’ He hissed. Hermione grinned impishly, spinning around so that she faced him.

‘Ah, ah, proper clothing young Lady!’ Anneken scolded, waving her wand. Hermione’s dress flowed down until it brushed the floor and the heels on her shoes grew from the width of a finger until her head was almost level with his nose.

‘Oh come on!’ Hermione hissed, seemingly unconcerned with her changed attire. ‘Herr Lintzen will love it.’

‘You’re mental.’ He told her, but Hermione had already waved her hand and a little violin in the corner of the room jumped to life. With no other choice, Gellert lifted his arms and Hermione wrapped her own around him, pressing herself up against him with a wicked grin.

Herr Lintzen started chortling as soon as the opening had played, whilst his wife her a hand pressed to her chest. Leaning back against his arms, Hermione hung backwards, her hair flowing down as he led her backwards in three quick steps, sweeping her into several quick, spinning turns. She really was very good at this dance, which she had absolutely no right to be because he’d only practiced it with her once before and they spun smoothly, his legs brushing hers but never tangling as he barely managed to keep ahead.

‘Mental, Mental, Mental.’ He repeated as Hermione took an arm off his and beckoned to Herr Lintzen through a haze of hair. The Patriarch joined them a moment later, then Anneken swept up Berg to join them on the floor, which was really much too small to have three couples dancing, especially because despite Anneken’s prodigious skill, Berg was truly terrible and kept bumping into everyone.

Even so, there was an incredibly daring fun in performing such a dance right in front of his mother. With the other two couples on the dance floor, he felt rather more confident and he began to take emboldened steps, dipping Hermione deeply pulling her upright into his chest before snapping her into a twirling loop of the dance floor, brushing up against the swirling skirt of the two other women. He was pretty certain that their steps were not accurate or precise, but that hardly felt like the purpose of the dance - it was bold and daring and unapologetic and he rather enjoyed himself. It was a shame when a very apologetic elf finally knocked on the door to beg them to stop as they were destabilising the sleipnir.

Laughing, the men all led their witches to a seat around the edge so that they could catch their breath. Frau Lintzen still held a hand over her heart but she was flushed pink and her eyes twinkled gaily. His mother was smiling too, not quite as mortified as Gellert had imagined she’d be, with the high necked gowns she usually wore.

‘Now.’ His mother began wickedly, ‘Let’s have that Volta from you, Berg.’

Still glowing bright red, Berg shuffled over and bowed to Hermione, not meeting either of their eyes.

‘May I have this dance?’ He mumbled and Hermione nodded, less confident with this dance than she had been with the waltz, which perhaps said something about her will to scandalise his mother.

It was incredibly complex, requiring the two participants to stick to a number of steps apart from one another, then perform a section right up close that virtually guaranteed that if either of them messed it up, Hermione’s rather lethal heels would dig painfully into Berg’s toes.

After the fun of dancing the Waltz, Hermione and Berg’s rendition of the Volta was painful to watch which was rather unfortunate because it was one of his mother’s favourites. The High Witchhad her two unfortunate wards skipping and clapping until the elves served lunch, at which point Frau Lintzen sent them both away to clean up.

There was very little time after a light lunch to do anything substantial - Hermione practiced her Gobbledegook, much to the awe of both boys who barely knew more than the basic greetings. She was turning into quite the linguist; speaking English and German fluently and knowing more than a little Russian, French and Gobbledegook - not to mention she kept her notes in a combination of Pictish and Nordic, so he was willing to bet she was nearly fluent in those as well. Anneken sorted through a pile of parchments which contained plans for the Yule celebration and the associated safety precautions. Nobody wanted to take the chance that another ritual would fail this year, particularly when they were still suffering the consequences of the last.

Food was tight, a string of unprecedented bad luck meaning barns had caught fire, plagues of rats and sickness had run rampant through everyone’s winter supplies and it wasn’t just limited to the wizarding world. Many of the Russian students had been instructed to stay at school over Yule as unrest at the famine stirred muggles to violence. Nobody wanted the Yule ritual to fail and cause the winter to drag out any longer than necessary.

Gellert retreated to his room to make a start on his Yule homework; two rolls of parchment on the ethical considerations of trans-species transfiguration. While he was by no means reluctant to study, he found this whole exercise to be rather pointless - he had never seen any adult witch or wizard perform any form of transfiguration which involved an animal and very much doubted he ever would.

Hermione would find the debate interesting though, so he resolved to discuss it with her and Mordred always had interesting insight on his ethics essays. He would definitely receive top marks, but he would probably end up re-writing it several times as each of his friends... or perhaps he should call them Hermione’s court reviewed them.

The carriage drew to a halt just in time to go out for a sumptuous tea. Gellert had only vague memories of Paris; he’d made a visit once when he was very young in the short period after Dumortier’s attempted revolution in France and before his father’s betrayal had cast his mother into their segregation in Blau Berg. He remembered it as a boisterous place; full of witches in massive muggle-style skirts and cramped little eateries that spilled out onto the street, thickening the air with the heady scent of wine and herbs.

He was taller now, so he could see the bowls of thick, creamy soup and the glistening cuts of roast meat that was being served to the patrons. However he was also old enough to feel the hostility that proved exactly why Dumortier had almost succeeded in his takeover of the French governmental system.

Their party stuck out painfully in their German clothing - the dark, rich colours of their cloaks were a sharp contrast to the pastels that the French witches wore and the embroidery was far less extensive, limited to trimmings on their cuffs and hems rather than the ornate patterns on the men’s jackets. Their witches carried themselves differently, unhindered by massive skirts and painfully tight corsets or ostentatious lacy hats and he found himself wondering how on earth they could cast effectively in that getup?

Hermione looked spectacular next to him, the runes on her crown glittering on her brow and her crisp white underskirt flashing between the heavy velvet overdress. Her hair was pulled up by matching white and deep plum ribbons which allowed her hair to cascade in tight ringlets over one shoulder. His mother was in an even darker shade of the same colour, almost black unless the light hit the fabric just right, sending a shimmer of deep wine up the rich silk skirt. She wore a pointed hat and the Gorlois staff she leaned on thrummed with power, holding her legs straight and strong as she strode down the street, staff clacking against the flag stones. Anneken was as scandalous as always, her neckline plunging to reveal inappropriate amounts of pale golden blouse, even if the blood-red hood somewhat shadowed it. Krum didn’t seem bothered, he seemed happy to show off what was his, bedecked in matching blood red robes.

Gellert felt rather inferior next to them, his robes somewhat dull and plain. He wore a business-like slate grey half cloak with a thick black fur lining, the only interesting thing was the silver cloak fasteners which coiled like serpents across his chest. He was, he supposed, better than the french with their ridiculously tight calf length robes, skintight stockings and ruffled neckties that puffed from their jackets like a rooster’s wattles.

Their first stop after eating was the clothing shop, which he believed to be the main purpose of their visit to the area. Hermione’s ball dress had been a subject of conflict between Anneken and his mother since the young witch had announced the upcoming even several days ago. As seemed to be the normal way, Anneken had wanted something daring and his mother had fought fiercely against every inch of exposed skin.

The men were relegated to a huddle of spindly stools which groaned under the weight of the adults. There was a chess board packed away beneath a little table and a generous pile of newspapers. There was also, he noticed with some amusement, a very worn looking copy of “which broomstick?”. Krum pulled out the chess set, challenging Herr Lintzen to a game whilst Berg picked up the broomstick guide. Neither of them were particularly fond of brooms; Berg had his hippogriff and Gellert, whilst not afraid of heights had always found he preferred being on the ground. He felt no inclination to whizz around on an enchanted stick.

With nothing better to do, Gellert abandoned his chair and started flipping through the racks of clothing. Maison Capenoir certainly did not cater to everyone; for a start there was nothing plain - not that the French seemed overly fond of plain in general. The embroidery was all exquisite, scrolling flowers and leaves and thick knots of glittering gold rope that made it all look rather feminine. In fact, he only realised he was indeed holding men’s robes when he remembered that French witches all wore muggle style hoops and bustles.

He snorted and shoved the offending garment back onto the railing, crossing the polished marble floor to the display of cloaks. These, he was fairly certain were for witches; or, he hoped they were, he shuddered at the thought of any wizard trying to wear such floral tones.

He could hear voices from the back and suddenly a door was flung open, the voices growing louder. Then Hermione stepped through the door in a click of heels and his jaw fell open.

Anneken had won the dress design debate; the glittering blue bodice of the dress was shaped like the top of a heart, leaving her shoulders covered by an almost veil-like fabric that left her skin clearly visible, right down to the plunging neckline which was embroidered . The sleeves were the same, long and flowing right down to the floor in misty trails and the skirt was a strange blend of two colours, starting at blue and ending in a misty grey. Whilst Hermione’s dress looked ethereal and stunning enough for a Veela, Hermione’s expression seemed to more closely resemble that of an enraged Veela.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asked cautiously. As far as he could tell the dress fitted well and he thought it looked very nice, even if it was very different to anything he’d seen before.

‘They’re arguing again!’ She hissed. It did seem that her abrupt departure from the fitting room had at least temporarily halted the voices, but he didn’t doubt it would start up again in a moment.

‘What do you think? It sounds like they haven’t let you get a word in about it.’ He said sympathetically, offering her his arm to lead her towards one of the tall mirrors that nestled between clothing racks.

‘It’s okay.’ She said after a moment of looking herself up and down.

“But?’ He prompted, trying desperately to look only at the reflection of her eyes in the mirror and not the way the back of the bodice left her shoulder blades sharply visible through the see through fabric.

‘It doesn’t say anything.’ She finally said, crossing her arms over her chest. Gellert looked at her quizzically, unsure what she wanted to say with her dress. Perhaps in British culture, what one wore could be used to say things in the same manner as the language of flowers?

‘I need it to make a statement.’ Hermione expanded after a brief pause. ‘This is my first chance to really make an impression, but I don’t even know what kind of impression I want to make.’

Whilst Hermione had certainly made an impression on German society, it was one won over time. Fräulein Grindelwald, the vivacious sister of Gellert Grindelwald, lighting quick with wand and wit, the perfect embodiment of ancient magic. Wild, powerful, generous and devoted yet lethal to those whom earned her ire. She was a born leader, fearsome duellist and every inch a member of an ancient family.

The stuffy British wouldn’t know what to make of her.

‘Well, its certainly daring.’ He said, forcing his eyes back up to hers again. They’d drifted back to the bodice again where it flared into the ghostly grey layers of skirt. It looked very grown up, like she was a woman rather than a witchling.

‘I guess...’ Hermione trailed off.

‘I think you should put this on it.’ He decided, taking her hand and holding it up to the light so that her family ring glittered in the lamp-light. ‘That’s a statement. You won’t just be debuting yourself, you’ll be debuting your family as well. It would be a pretty loud declaration of your family and your loyalty to their values. Not to mention that a wold is a pretty good representation of you too - wild, fierce, strong and proud.’

‘It’s meant to be a white Grim.’ Hermione informed him but she was smiling down at the ring on her finger. ‘But I like the idea.’

‘There you go... full of symbolism. Who else would be so bold as to wear a Grim on their dress?’ Berg drawled from the front of the shop. Hermione only hesitated a moment longer before making up her mind.

‘I love you.’ She told him, flinging her arms around his neck. Surprised, Gellert stabilised himself against the nearest rack of clothing - she was heavy with such a big dress on.

‘I love you too... sister.’ He replied uncertainly, resting his arms around her terrifyingly bare shoulders. Berg coughed meaningfully from the front of the shop.

‘And you, brother Berg.’ Hermione added with a laugh, drawing away from Gellert and heading back into the fitting room where the adult witches were still arguing fiercely. He heard her sudden announcement, the declaration silencing the debate. There was a moment of pause, then he heard his mother’s resigned sigh followed by her crisp instructions to the seamstress. He retreated to the other men, hoping his mother never realised he had played a part in her defeat.

With the ordeal of clothes shopping finally over, he thought they would be able to do something more to his liking for the evening - the circus was in Paris and there was apparently a shop that sold all manner of sweet treats down at the end of the street. Unfortunately it seemed he wouldn’t be that lucky - his mother had organised a formal dinner to introduce Hermione to a manufacturer of enchanted items who would hopefully turn her self-inking quill from a handful of home-enchanted items into a commercial product which could be sold across the international wizarding community.

Paris was a lively place in the evening, couples drifted between warmly lit food venues in the pools of light cast from gas lanterns above, flitting through silver moonlight. They spoke passionately, waving their free hands and speaking in their flowing language. A quartet of teenage witches in periwinkle blue cloaks sang to the bold notes of a grand piano near a huge pine tree at the head of the street. The smells of food were stronger in the still night air; heady, heavy wine and rich, roasting meat. The restaurant they went to was decorated for Yule with glittering baubles and strings of twinkling witchlights tastefully draped around the panelled walls.

There was an incredibly elderly couple already in the doorway and he was surprised when his mother nodded respectfully to them. He didn’t recognise either face and they wore no obvious family jewellery, but surely if his mother was nodding to them they must be of an ancient family?

‘Katerina, I am gladdened to see you well. We heard terrible tales of events in Germany over the last year.’ The elderly lady greeted his mother warmly.

‘Yes, a trying year. Dumortier’s ideas will not die out without a fight.’ His mother replied, her eyes flickering to the man. His creased eyes were fixed on Hermione, dark and beady beneath heavy white brows. He looked half mad, a drab brown cloak thrown over a creased garment that could have passed as a nightgown. His hair flew about his face in wild white wisps that looked like they were in need to a good comb. ‘May I present Hermione, my ward.’ His mother pulled the young witch forwards, not missing where the man’s interest lay.

‘A High Priestess - I never thought I’d see that kind of magic surface again.’ The old man said, shaking his head. It was terribly rude, Gellert thought, for the old man to not introduce himself in return.

‘My line has always had a Sect.’ Hermione informed him cooly, as aware as Gellert of the man’s rudeness.

‘Very interesting.’ He practically purred, his eyes alight with academic curiosity.

‘Nick, for Merlin’s sake.’ The woman huffed. ‘Pardon his manners dearest; Nick spends a lot of time in his workshop. I have a real battle of it trying to pull him out even for dinner. What is the good of immortality I say, if one doesn’t plan to live it. I am Perenell and this is my husband, Nicolas Flamel.’

‘Nicolas Flamel!’ Hermione breathed and Gellert exchanged a glance with Berg, wondering what the woman meant by “immortality”. Were they some kind of half breed?

‘You’ve heard of me?’ The man chucked, sounding surprised.

‘Of course, my friend Harry is a great fan of your work. Perhaps you could come to the Yule celebration we are planning and we could talk more. He would be ever so jealous.’ Hermione suggested with a winning smile. Gellert shook his head, knowing that she was up to something but almost afraid to ask.

With a little more talk the Flamels departed and their party was led into a large private dining room. Like everything in France, it was decorated in pastel colours; eggshell blue wall panels were decorated with gilt candelabras and fractionally darker blue drapes which had been drawn shut across the tall windows. The chairs were upholstered in cream brocade and the floor was covered with a massive floral carpet which ran right up to the hearth of the dark, engraved wooden fireplace. The small fire crackled merrily, filling the room with the faint scent of burning applewood and the massive crystal chandelier caught it’s light as though every gem was lit by its own inner fire. He adjusted the awful bow tie around his neck and took a deep breath, fortifying himself for what he knew would be a dull evening. He hated Paris.


	76. Goblins

Hermione could practically feel the nerves and anticipation thickening the air of the floo room as they waited for the clock to tick over to eleven o’clock. She shifted nervously, wishing that she’d managed to bring Mordred’s sword back through time with her. It was frustratingly unpredictable; she’d brought her own battle robes and crown with her in both directions, as well as her combs, wand, her ring and any notes she put in her pockets when she went to bed. A set of Herr Lintzen’s battle robes had managed to come forwards for Harry, along with her finished ball gown and the gifts she had acquired for the goblins, but they wouldn’t go back and Mordred’s sword, her books and every other item of clothing from the past wouldn’t come forwards.

Her party were dressed impeccably with the exception of Harry’s hair which was as wild as always. The boy-who-lived looked far more at ease in the battle robes than he had in dress robes and the crimson and gold was close enough to his own family colours that they could be passed off as actually belonging to him. He wore a black leather coat beneath the sleeveless crimson robe which laced tightly across his chest to give him a pronounced, masculine figure before falling away behind him like a tail coat to his ankles and leaving his leather-clad legs free to move. Theodore looked dashing in his own battle robes - obviously only worn once or twice, they were more decorative than functional, unlike the heavily warded ones that Hermione wore. The collar was so heavily embroidered that it almost appeared silver and whilst the long loincloth and surcoat-style split skirts allowed for more heavy embroidery, they would almost certainly tangle around his legs should he ever need to actually duel in the outfit. His father wore the same battle robes he had worn when she first arrived; their plain functionality a remarkable contrast to his son. 

Hermione adjusted her own battlerobes, the impossibly light yet tough fabric swirling around her soft leather boots and the comfortingly tight leather breastplate that moulded to her body perfectly, charmed to flex despite the thickness of the protective layer. Her fingers ran over the familiar embossed patterns as they had done hundreds of times before. Her robes had had a hard life and the pattern had softened to become almost invisible to the eye and there were several scars in the leather that glistened where they’d been magically repaired.

‘Time to go.’ Theo announced, a moment before the clock chimed. Both boys quickly picked up their gifts, carefully concealed beneath embroidered cloths and fell in behind Hermione. Lord Nott went first, throwing down a handful of floo powder and whizzing away to “Gringotts, London.” Hermione waited a moment, then took her place in the fire. She nodded solemnly to her two year mates, forcing her chin up to project false confidence.

She too disappeared in a whirl of green flames. Floo travel was busier in Britain than it was in Germany; very few fireplaces were connected, mostly because of how unsafe floo travel was in times of unrest, particularly when most places had portals nearby. In Britain, she whizzed past hundreds of fireplaces, most hung with stockings and many allowing glimpses into family gatherings.

A second later she stepped out of a massive fireplace in a room that could only be described as golden. Everything was gold, from the glittering veins that ran through the polished marble floor to the ornately worked chandelier that lit the room and the decorative panels that covered the walls.

The doors were closed but two golden uniformed goblin guards stood at either hinge, each wielded massive, viciously jagged spear that was hung with a snowy white pennant depicting a golden tusked boar. Lord Nott stepped up beside her as the boys tumbled through, both pausing to blink rapidly at the startling brightness of such a metallic room.

With everyone assembled, they made their way down the room to the doors which swung open in perfect synchrony to reveal what was unmistakably the royal party.

These goblins were dressed like something out of a Renaissance painting; bright, jewel toned velvet doublets and thick, lacy ruffs. Every member of the party wore some kind of metal circlet of a different colour and they all had an ornate, ceremonial looking hammer at their belts. To her surprise, the armoured guards were all female. Fine plate armour covered long, slender limbs and they too wore metal circlets on their brows from which fine mail hung, obscuring their faces. Glittering earrings trimmed the bottom edge of their long, pointed ears and delicate beaded chains wove through thick braids of hair. They all bore swords, each carved with a set of Futhark runes, and a quick glance at the closest suggested it was the name of the weapon.

‘May I present the High King of the United Goblin Nations, King Ragnuk the Fearless, seventh of his name.’ A goblin with a silver circlet announced, bowing deeply and stepping aside with a sweep of his arm to allow a direct view of the goblin Hermione presumed was Ragnuk. His circlet was heavily bejewelled and the white doublet he wore was embroidered with the golden tusked boar she’d seen earlier on the pennants. He was surrounded by six other goblins whom all wore golden circlets, each with a different coloured gemstone set over their brow. Hermione’s party bowed to the Goblin King and she inclined her head.

‘May I present High Priestess Hermione Granger of Gorlois, ward of House Grindelwald.’ Lord Nott introduced her smoothly. All of the goblins bowed deeply until she could see only their receding hairlines.

‘Well met, High King Ragnuk.’ She greeted, carefully enunciating the gobbledegook words. ‘May I present to you this gift, crafted by the fey.’

She beckoned to Harry who stepped forwards and knelt, holding out the heavy box beneath it’s cloth covering. Ragnuk stepped forwards and lifted the cloth carefully, running his hands along the ivory inlaid box. His long, bony fingers found the hidden clasp and he flicked it open, lifting the bow from its soft cushion. Acromantula silk bowstring glistened in the light of the chandeliers and the scrolling metal grip shone only slightly brighter than the lovingly oiled wood. Ragnuk purred in delight.

‘And may I present this gift to your nation, that you may know the truth.’

The box that Theo carried was much smaller and he quickly took Harry’s place on the floor, kneeling with his arms held out. Ragnuk lifted the cloth to reveal a strange, black stone cube that was barely bigger than a pot of ink. The ogham runes carved deeply into the six sides made the purpose of the device clear - like a sneakoscope, the stone allowed the bearer to detect dishonesty, although it was far more sensitive and could specify precisely who or what was being dishonest. It had taken her hours to make under the strict guidance of one of the carvings of her ancestors in the barrow’s library. Again, Ragnuk purred and Hermione barely hid her relieved smile.

‘Well met, High Priestess.’ King Ragnuk replied in a gravelly voice and she was relieved when he then switched to English. ‘You are indeed generous. May I present to this gift to your family, that you may slay your enemies with ease.’

Ragnuk gestured to one of the silver circlet goblins who stepped forwards bearing a long, thin object beneath a blue silk cloth. She knew what it was having already expected this to be the gift bestowed onto her personally. Excitement thrummed as she stepped forwards and gently lifted the cloth. The sheath was plain, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. It was made of Gorlois-blue leather, white metal protecting the tip and wrapping around in delicate bands every couple of inches. More delicate metalwork formed the loop that would allow her to carry the weapon and a single clear diamond hung where the amber luck charm hung off Mordred’s. The hilt was made of the same white metal and wrapped in more blue leather. The cross guard was plain, but the pommel was shaped like a howling grim, a large sapphire nestled between it’s jaws. The workmanship was incredibly detailed - she could see every hair on the grim, each individual fang in its mouth.

Hermione wrapped her hand around the hilt, drawing the blade with a slight rasp of metal against the reinforced rim. Her magic hummed in pleasure, flowing through the blade as if it were a wand. As she angled the blade this way and that, she realised that there was something other than metal at the centre - ivory or perhaps...

‘Bone?’ She asked curiously and Ragnuk grinned savagely.

‘Dragon bone. The Goblin Nation studied the bonding of magical cores to metal many centuries ago, when wizards were our allies. Our smiths aimed to create a weapon that could channel magic like a stave or wand, yet was sharp enough to harm that which cannot be harmed by magic.’

‘They have performed an admirable job.’ Hermione informed him, sliding the sword back into the sheath with practiced movements.

‘May I also present this gift to you, that none may mistake your court.’

This gift was in a delicately crafted box, about a foot across in either direction and two inches deep. She flicked open the clasp and lifted the lid to see about thirty rings nestled into a plush blue velvet pillow. She lifted one out, holding it up to the light to inspect the silver band. Black stone had been inlaid into the surface, highlighting where the silver had been left in to form a clever Celtic knot. They were like coven bands, she decided, then she realised that the knot was actually tiny, intricate runes. She was ready to bet that wards could be designed to allow access to specific runic combinations and that the rings were essentially magical keys. Exquisite, subtle magical keys, especially if they contained the same enchantments as family rings which meant they couldn’t be forcefully removed.

There was little difference between the rings, so she slipped the one she already held over the middle finger on her left hand. It magically resized to fit and she admired the reflection of the light on the concealed runes. Then, she shut the lid with a snap and passed both gifts to Theo.

‘To business, High Priestess. If you would follow, a room has been prepared.’ Ragnuk turned and Hermione fell in beside him, their two groups merging. Lord Nott pinned himself to her side, his hand continuously twitching towards his wand as he eyed up the closest goblin woman.

Like the room they had arrived in, the corridors were clearly built to impress. There was less gold, replaced by white marble and mighty chandeliers. They were led beneath three of them before turning left into a massive conference room. More gold-streaked marble decorated this room, sparkling in the light that streamed through a massive window looking out onto the alley. It was framed by two massive columns and she assumed that meant they were at the front face of the bank, perhaps above the doors.

Hermione and Ragnuk took the two throne-like chairs at the head of the table. Hermione’s party took seats down the right side of the table whilst six goblins with gold circlets sat on the left. One goblin pulled out a long scroll of parchment whilst the armoured women took positions near the doors and windows. Everyone else was shut outside.

‘Orthak will take records, if you have no objections, High Priestess?’ Ragnuk asked, reaching for a pitcher and pouring himself a goblet of water. Hermione had no objections and they quickly introduced the members of their parties to one another. The six goblins at the table turned out to be the kings of each nation, represented by the different coloured gemstones in their circlets.

The first matter that was discussed was the goblin items possessed by her family that needed to be returned to the possession of the nation that crafted them. Hermione agreed instantly, much to the surprise of the two purebloods in the room. She had no attachment to anything the goblins would want, and Mordred had informed her that the goblins were incredibly generous to their allies. If she gave back the gifts that had been given to individuals, she would probably receive that value back again as gifts to her family that could be kept.

She promised that any items that she came across would be returned to them, but that she had yet to visit many of her family strongholds. Apologetically she explained that many of the artefacts may have been lost over time. Ragnuk waved his hand dismissively, stating that the nation understood the unusual situation and would be content to receive items as they were discovered.

The next thing to be addressed was the wealth the nation still held on behalf of the Gorlois family. Hermione had had no clue that such a thing existed but she accepted the inventory sheet anyway. Most of the list, Ragnuk explained, was gifts to individuals that needed to be returned to her family. The monetary value was tithe, paid by goblins that mined two of the Gorlois properties. It hadn’t been managed and so was not as valuable as it could have been but it was still enough that she would never have to work, particularly if her patents from self-inking quills were still earning money in her personal account.

Lord Nott was kind enough to offer to collate her family finances so that she could focus on her schoolwork and the goblins agreed to open a high security vault for her family. There was a brief squabble between the six goblin kings as to which nation’s section of the bank would receive the “honour” of protecting and managing her gold which Ragnuk settled by delegating responsibility for different sections to each nation, with the exception of the green-gem adorned king, whose security had recently been breached. The singled out king flushed a deep mauve and folded his arms sulkily, glaring around the room.

‘Now, there is the matter of Avalon.’ Ragnuk said. The six goblin kings stirred in anticipation. Hermione’s brows drew together. She was familiar with the name from the tales she’d heard in the muggle world, but she had never heard the place referred to by anyone in the wizarding world.

‘Avalon was lost when Morgana’s court died.’ Lord Nott informed the room at large. Hermione chewed at her lip, wishing someone had thought to tell her that the mythical island actually existed.

‘The nations hoped that the secret to its location might still be known to the Gorlois family, it was their magic which protected its many secrets.’

Every eye turned to Hermione and she shook her head.

‘My family has many secrets. I haven’t even been told of Avalon.’

‘It is a magical nexus, like Orkney and Salisbury Plain. Avalon had much to offer, more than either Orkney or Salisbury, so the Gorlois family placed powerful magical protections upon it. Upon Morgana’s death, the island suddenly vanished. The knowledge of its location was torn from the minds of our people, it faded from the maps and the writings which described how one might reach it became garbled, little better than nonsense.’ Ragnuk explained and Lord Nott looked troubled.

‘It sounds like some kind of Fidelius Charm but usually when the secret keeper dies, all who know the secret become it’s keepers.’ The old wizard pondered, drumming his fingers against his arm.

‘They wouldn’t have had wands then.’ Theo pointed out, garnering nods from both Hermione and his father.

‘Perhaps the knowledge of the island died with her?’ Harry asked. ‘That charm you just mentioned, maybe the secret keeper just didn’t change.’

‘Perhaps, but that wouldn’t explain why those who knew the secret forgot it. Its almost as though the charm was recast after her death...’ He was still tapping his arm.

‘What if the position of secret keeper was hereditary - designed to pass on to someone else when Morgana died?’ Theo asked.

‘Then someone else would be the secret keeper now. We would just need to find out who she would have left the position to.’ Lord Nott confirmed.

‘Mordred knows nothing.’ Hermione added. ‘Morgause gave the position to Morgana who gave it to Mordred. He was the last to hold the position, even if his sons still held the title. Orkney was too war torn for them to complete the ritual. Mordred would have told me about it if it existed.

There was a moment of quiet, then Hermione turned back to the Goblins.

‘I will look into the family records and see if I can find anything. That is the best I can promise. Before we conclude, I do have one issue to resolve with you, or perhaps the bank. I hope that we might be able to act in confidence. We do not want word of our questions to reach certain ears.’

The goblins eyes sharpened.

‘The goblin nation holds the security and reputation of the bank above all else, High Priestess. We ask you not to beg us compromise it.’ Ragnuk warned darkly and Hermione shook her head fiercely.

‘No, no. Our questions are completely legal, we jut have reason to believe that powerful individuals are attempting to obstruct the inheritance laws.’

‘I almost believed that was par for the course with wizards.’ Ragnuk scoffed and Hermione frowned.

‘Not in this way.’ She assured. ‘Harry Potter wishes to see his parent’s will.’

The goblins shared confused looks.

‘This is not an irregular request.’ One of the kings said, puzzled.

‘No, but Harry has not been given his seal, either as heir or patriarch. We are concerned that something has gone amiss with the stewardship and do not want to alert whomever is his guardian to the issue.’ She explained. The goblins closed together, croaking to one another in gobbledegook that was too fast for Hermione translate. After several long seconds of conference, they drew apart again.

‘Your request is certainly acceptable. Orthak will misplace this page of his records, and fetch the will of the late patriarch Potter.’ Ragnuk announced on behalf of the goblins. Hermione smiled gratefully. Orthak stood and hurried out of the room as Theo reached out and took the top page of his stack of parchment. Both parties confirmed that it was the correct page, then Hermione set it alight with a touch and allowed the sheet to crumble to ash. A moment later, Ragnuk swept the powder off the table with his velvet sleeve and any record was gone.

It took Orthak a long time to fetch the will and the two parties sat in awkward silence. There was very little distraction in the room, so Hermione observed the two female goblins that flanked the window instead. All the females in the room wore gold circlets, which she suspected meant that they were the wives of the six kings. There was no corresponding female for Ragnuk and she found herself incredibly curious. Unfortunately, this was probably not the correct scenario to be expressing any lack of knowledge about their society and customs. She would have to find more resources for research later; perhaps ones less biased than the history of magic text that they had been assigned for school.

‘The last will and testament of James Potter, Patriarch of the House of Potter and his wife, Lily Potter.’ Orthak announced when he returned, bearing a thick, creamy coloured scroll. The seal was broken, presumably at the time of the initial reading, but Hermione could clearly make out the impression of a duelling lion and stag imprinted on either side of a complex shield. The goblin passed the scroll to Harry, followed by a set of weights to hold down the four corners once he had unrolled it across the table.

It was not very long at all. The first line gave everything to Lily, and the second said that if she didn’t survive either, everything would go to Harry except for ‘The Saab 900’ which was to go to Sirius. Sirius Black was also named as Harry’s guardian, explicitly and clearly, followed by someone called Remus Lupin, then finally Peter Pettigrew.

‘Sirius Black is in Azkaban.’ Lord Nott said, pointing to the name on the page. ‘He was arrested for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles only days after the Dark Lord disappeared. Remus Lupin was, I believe, a werewolf. In the eyes of the law, none of them are eligible to be his guardian. Magically however... I imagine it would be Sirius Black.’

‘So Black would have the ring?’ Theo confirmed but one of the goblins shook his head.

‘Black may have never received it, in which case Lupin would have it. Or, Black may have received it, then given it to someone else at the time of his arrest.’ The purple jewelled goblin explained.

‘Very well, we thank you for your assistance.’

‘The nations thank you for meeting with us, High Priestess.’ Ragnuk said, closing the meeting.

‘May your hammers hit true.’ She said in confident gobbledegook, having practiced the parting phrase hundreds of times.

‘And may your blade stay sharp.’ Ragnuk replied, his eyes glinting.

They left through the same way they had arrived - the two boys went first carrying the gifts Hermione had been given, followed by Hermione and then Lord Nott.

‘They were too friendly.’ Thoros Nott announced as soon as the green flames spat him out of the fireplace in his own manor.

‘They looked ridiculous in those ruffs.’ Theodore snickered, far more concerned by the sword Hermione had been gifted. ‘This is wicked.’

‘It is.’ She said, taking it from his hands and sliding the blade out with a hiss. The blade was lighter than Mordred’s but otherwise of very similar style and dimensions. She swung it a couple of times, experimentally slashing as an invisible enemy in the air. Her magic flowed with the weapon, flickering tongues of white fire licking along the razor edges of the blade. ‘I can’t wait to go up against Mordred with this!’ She declared.

‘It’s still weird that you learned with a sword like that instead of a foil.’ Theo remarked as she twisted and stabbed in a graceful, practiced movement.

She hummed in agreement, then sheathed the sword and Theo called an elf for her so that the gifts could be taken up to her room. She turned back to Lord Nott, and after a moment the elderly wizard wiped the dazed expression from his face and led them up to his office. She had spent a fair amount of time in this room since her arrival, teaching all three modern wizards about the rituals that had been ingrained in Gellert and Berg at birth.

‘So what’s the next step in tracking down Harry’s seal?’ Theo began as soon as they were seated in large, conjured wooden chairs around the massive desk.

‘We need to speak to Sirius Black.’ Harry said decisively. ‘Find out if he picked up the seal.’

‘Are you able to organise that?’ Hermione asked Lord Nott. The elderly wizard shifted awkwardly, his fingers shifting to drum at his arm again. Theo too looked uncomfortable with the question and Hermione wondered what secret they were keeping. She’d have to be an idiot not to notice anything, but she let it slide. She would be told at some point and forcing the matter would get her nowhere.

‘I very much doubt it.’ Lord Nott finally said. ‘Sirius Black is a very high security prisoner. He was convicted of the murder of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles.’

‘Can anyone get to him?’ Hermione asked, frustrated. ‘There must be a way to ask questions? A letter?’

‘Perhaps if the request came from you, Mr. Potter.’ Lord Nott turned to Harry. ‘Sirius Black was best friends with your parents all through school and must have remained that way even after your birth if he was named as your guardian, then he allegedly was the one to betray them to the Dark Lord. I imagine if The-Boy-Who-Lived were to request a meeting to demand answers... well, you’d certainly have more success than a member of the sacred twenty-eight trying to speak to another, particularly in the current political climate.’

‘Okay, who do I need to owl?’ Harry said decisively.

‘I would suggest Madam Amelia Bones. I’m sure the High Priestess will be able to help you compose an appropriate letter and I would be more than willing to review it.’

‘Thanks... you don’t know... did he actually betray my parents to Voldemort?’

Lord Nott’s fingers whitened around his arm and his breath wheezed as he became suddenly pale. Theo’s complexion matched his father but he remained composed enough to hiss at Harry to stop using his name!

‘I very much doubt it.’ Lord Nott eventually said. Harry relaxed slightly and Hermione couldn’t tell if he was relieved or upset by the answer.

‘Come on, let’s write this letter. Theodore, may I borrow your owl? I’m going to see if I can owl my family for our records.’ Harry and Theo jumped up to follow her out of the room. The two boys bowed at the door and Hermione nodded her head, receiving a deeper nod in return. ‘Thank you for your assistance, I will not forget.’ She added quietly before leaving.


	77. Sorcery

t was both upsetting and strangely magical, decorating for Yule among the ruins of his family home. It was the first time he had been back, although Hermione had been back earlier to help the elves salvage as much as possible and store it safely in the undamaged warrens.

The south tower had collapsed completely and nature had rapidly begun to reclaim it. Moss and lichen crawled over the once pearly stones. Leaves rotted beneath drifts of snow that had settled into the gaps between the massive chunks of fallen stone. The soaring staircase of the entrance hall still remained, now open to the sky. The corridor to the left that had once led to the children’s wing was now a balcony that stretched precariously out into space. Several meters away, across the courtyard, the the tower that he and Hermione had once live in still stood, leaning alarmingly where the buttresses that had once soared up over the courtyard from the entrance hall had collapsed. It was now propped up by magic and the entrances to it magically sealed to keep everyone out of the dangerous rooms.

His mother’s wing, or the main wing still stood but the colossal beacon tower had been brought down, tipping over the protective walls that had encircled the castle and breaking up into two-story chunks as it fell down the hillside.

The younger generation had clambered through the rubble straight after breakfast, excited and optimistic about working some magic and getting to prepare the ballroom for the stunning Yule celebration they had planned. In hindsight, they really should have expected the sight that met them as they finally managed to find a safe route by cutting around through the gardens and coming through the balcony doors.

The roof had burned out of the ballroom, stone arches now supporting air like the rib cage of a beast. The gilt panelled walls had burned back to bare stone and the parquet dance floor and dais had been reduced to a charred mess, piled high with shattered tiles and burned roof beams.

Then Hermione had come to the rescue. Tears glistening in silver trails down her cheeks, she’d held out a hand to him and Anneken. Gellert had grabbed Berg’s hand too and Hermione had dragged them all down until they were sitting in damp, cold snow.

She stretched their magic out, burrowing through the ground and saturating the stones, sweeping upwards towards the unstable walls and twirling around the towers above them. She kept at it, pouring magic out at a slow, measured pace as she began to mutter - spells that he recognised but had never heard her use before, along with many that he’d never heard of. Their conjoined power recognised the words, assigning them to whatever Hermione willed at the time she spoke and performing the act without any further guidance. It was sorcery of the likes he’d never seen or heard of in recent times. It was unplanned, unrefined, a pure joining of wizardry and witchcraft in an instinctive display of power.

The magic solidified the walls and towers, anchoring them firmly with a sheen of magic that tied the crumbling stones together and protected them from the elements and the passage of time. With the nearby castle safe, she withdrew their magic to the ballroom, focusing it with such density and intensity that the air seemed to physically warm by several degrees. Snow hissed as it evaporated instantly, beams as thick as a man lifted like twigs, splintering themselves in the air whilst the shattered roof tiles shuffled and shifted on the floor edges glowing with magic as they fused into a smooth, even surface. Pearly chunks of masonry formed a ring where the dais had been, encircling the shattered beams as they built themselves into a bonfire. Shards of clear window-glass swirled up, flowing and twirling into tornados with the twisted remains of chandeliers, settling back to the floor as delicate tables. Ice flowed down the walls from the spoiled guttering, freezing into a wintery rendition of the panelling that had once covered the stone walls.

The sun peeked over the walls, glittering across the faceted ice and refracting into vibrant rainbows that danced across their faces. Foreign magic wound into theirs and Gellert realised his mother had joined them, along with the remaining nine members of her coven. Their magic funnelled powerfully through their coven bond, surging through Hermione and submitting to the will of the young High Priestess.

Hermione responded with relish, pouring the awe-inspiring magical power of the nine powerful, mature wixen into the air until he could barely feel the cold stones beneath him as he floated in a kaleidoscopic sea of colours and textures. Still their magic worked under his sister’s sorcery. Witchlights shimmered in the shadows of the bare ribs, then icicles formed around them, growing down until they hung like spears above them and sending more light refracting around the space. Trees shot up around the walls, breaking up the overwhelming expanse of sparkling ice with deep green as branches unfurled and streams of crimson ribbon wound itself around them. They filled the air with their warm earthy scent which mixed with the metallic tang of magic that pulsed around them.

The cutoff from the magic was sharp and shocking, the reality of the freezing winter air rushing back in and stealing his breath from his lungs. He swayed alarmingly, dropping Hermione and Berg’s hands to steady himself as his head spun.

‘Oh Hermione, it looks spectacular.’ Anneken breathed.

The young witch nodded, looking very pale as she lay back on the gleaming slate floor.

‘You okay?’ Berg checked. Hermione nodded without opening her eyes. ‘That was amazing magic.’ He added after a moment.

‘Very impressive, witchling.’ Frau Fleiss agreed from behind them.

‘I’ve never heard of anything like it.’ Herr Hawdon shook his head. ‘There must have been over forty simultaneous magical focuses and you only used singular words for each one.’

‘She cedes focuses to members of her Sect, I believe. The magical residues through here are... unbelievable.’ Frau Kollmann still had her eyes closed and he assumed she was surveying the magical world around them.

‘Perhaps that is the true power of the Sect.’ Herr Hawdon pondered. ‘To have that many individuals engaged in a unified act of magic... as a coven, we have never yet been limited by power, rather by the number of focuses we can control without explicit instructions to our magic. To do this magic here, the incantation alone would be longer than we could memorise and it would have taken days, rather that hours. The sheer numbers of the sect allows enchantments we couldn’t even consider otherwise.’

‘I can’t get them to do complex stuff.’ Hermione said from the ground where she still lay with her eyes closed. ‘I have to begin the casting and then I can pass control over to someone from the Sect. Unless they can actually see the enchantment, they can’t really do much more than monitor and maintain focuses. I have to tell them when to stop or if something needs to change.’

‘So if you could get the whole sect in one place...’

There was a pause as they all considered the implications.

‘They’re almost all dead though.’ Hermione pointed out, ‘most can’t actually travel more than five miles from their homes except under very special circumstances.’

‘When they were, their magic shook the ley lines and brought down a bolt of... it wasn’t lightning. It wasn’t even a true storm. It was magic, physical magic that darkened the sky and battered the seas.’ His mother woke lowly, her voice quiet as she remembered the event.

‘Do you think Dumortier’s lot know?’ Frau Lintzen asked tersely.

‘What do you mean?’ Anneken demanded, concern heavy in her voice.

‘They don’t like the coven because it’s a consolidation of power in a select, unelected group, above the law and unanswerable to anyone.’ Frau Lintzen explained slowly. A dead silence fell across the ballroom.

‘I don’t understand.’ Berg said.

‘If they didn’t like the coven, they’ll hate me as a High Priestess. That’s probably why they’re so desperate to get rid of me. Kill me before I get stronger I guess.’ Hermione laughed humourlessly.

‘We’ll just have to keep you safe.’ Berg decided resolutely.

‘Yes.’ Gellert agreed, shuffling across the cold stone and taking Hermione hand in his. ‘Between me, Berg and Mordred, Alice’s crowd have no chance.’

‘And me!’ Anneken added.

‘And Katana. If that beast could fit through the castle doors...’ Herr Lintzen grumbled.

‘Thank you.’ Hermione replied warmly, a smile ticking up the corners of her mouth.

‘Now, Gellert, find your costume. I imagine it’s been stored in the warrens somewhere - if anything survived the fire, it will be the yule-sun’s robe. Berg, take Hermione back to the carriage to rest and no, you may not stop to take her for a fly on Star. She can help you carry the Yule Log back with him tonight. The rest of us will see if we can clear an easier way in than that mess outside.’ His mother began issuing marching orders as her coven drew their wands and headed out through the balcony to clear some space.

The plan was that the guests would arrive throughout the day, pitching tents or picketing their carriages on the rolling lawns. Without the portals, everyone would have to arrive much earlier and stay overnight after the party, which made things a little more complex but they were all certain the atmosphere would be jolly anyway. They had missed Samhain this year - the powerful protective ritual circle had been irreparably damaged and it would have to be remade from scratch, so everyone was aching to complete a successful ritual and turn the tide on what was quickly becoming a terrible year.

With the assistance of the elves he eventually found the Yule costume and he took it to the carriage to dress.

Hermione had ignored his mother’s advice to rest and had somehow sweet talked Berg into practicing her dancing. She wore her Yule outfit already; a traditional, ivory gown with a gold ribbon around her waist and she wore a crown of young, soft holly leaves. They stopped when he came in, a casual wave of Berg’s hand stopping the music.

‘Do you want to come and look at the tents with me?’ Hermione asked and Gellert sighed heavily. He just couldn’t say no to her when she looked at him like that. They jumped down from the carriage onto the overgrown gravel of one of the garden paths. The sleipnir were picketed on the nearby triangle of grass, along with Kelpie and Star had come from his roost up in the mountains to visit. He roosted behind their carriage, his massive feathery bulk like a sandy hill behind the carriage. Germany had suited him well and his feathers were now glossy with health.

There were fourteen other carriages parked in what had once been the walled gardens and he immediately recognised a number of family crests; there was the horse and dragon on the purple shield - that was the Dunhaupts and the silver and sky blue ribbons that made up the Delacour crest. To Hermione’s delight, one of the plainer carriages held a simple, blood red owl on the door which he was reasonably certain was the Flamels. She knocked eagerly on the door and a moment later it swung open to reveal the elderly Perenell in her evening gown.

She called out to her husband, receiving a crash followed by a string of curses in return. A moment later, Nicholas Flamel appeared at the carriage doorway. He too was already in his Yule robes, but he had a smear of some kind of potion above his pocket which was bulging with interesting looking instruments.

They were invited in, finding themselves in a very feminine, rosy pink living room. Two doors led off - one that was open to a dark potions lab and another that he assumed must go to a bedroom. Perenell gestured for them to take a seat on the delicate silk chairs and a second later she was serving tea in delicate chinaware. She fussed for a moment over Nicholas’ robes, casting a litany of vanishing charms before allowing him to sit on the small sofa opposite them.

‘You must have been busy all morning, we’ve been feeling powerful magical surges all day.’ Perenell asked, offering up a plate of little sandwiches.

‘Yes, there were significant repairs to the ballroom to make it usable.’ Hermione said, folding her hands across her lap. ‘The coven are just finishing off now, Lady Grindelwald sent us all home to rest before this evening.’

‘In my day, resting meant sitting down, usually with a book.’ Nicholas Flamel grumbled. Hermione smiled winningly.

‘I don’t get much free time and I’m so looking forwards to hearing about your research.’

Nicholas huffed.

‘There are many wixen chasing immortality. Usually they are a little older.’

‘Immortality?’ Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. ‘No, undeath is the family tradition. If I was immortal, the family line would stop.’

There was a moment of dumbstruck silence then Nicholas laughed, sounding half a century younger than he looked.

‘You are an interesting one. Very well. Have you studied much alchemy before?’

He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination or not, but Hermione seemed surprised by this question. Had she not actually known that Flamel would talk about alchemy?

‘Nothing much, unfortunately. It’s only covered as an optional topic in fifth year if there’s enough interest.’ She admitted.

‘Well, tell me what you do know.’ Nicholas prompted, leaning forwards in his seat and observing her with his dark, sunken eyes.

‘I think it’s like magical science; it deals with stuff like metals and elements and immortality through powerful healing substances. It includes experimentation, astronomy and elemental magic.’ Hermione said slowly. Where she had gotten that information, he had no idea. He had only vaguely heard of alchemy as an odd, secretive area of magic.

‘Excellent, excellent. Alchemy is primarily about purity; purity of matter, purity of body and purity of soul. With all three, one can achieve eternal life.’

The lecture that followed was detailed and fascinating, tell them all about the concepts that had to line up to create the philosopher’s stone, which was the crowning achievement of alchemy. He never told them how to achieve such a feat and Hermione never pressed, seeming more interested in the “magical molecular relation.” He had no idea what those words meant, but she did and it delighted Flamel. They spoke until the sun dipped below the horizon, then Perenell reminded them all that there was a ritual to complete in an hour and that they should really be going.

They were ushered out of the cosy Flamel carriage and into the freezing night air. The gardens were packed with tents and carriages, beasts grazing in every spare spot of overgrown lawn as wizards emerged in their finery to saddle up. Witches were polishing their broomsticks and charming their heels before the dance and they waved as the trio passed, following the path of lanterns around the debris and along the cleared route to the ballroom.

The coven had been hard at work - young pine trees strung with multicoloured witchlights hid the worst of the damaged castle and fresh snow crunched under their feet, enchanted to stop it becoming slushy. Strangely, they couldn’t actually see the ballroom until they were actually standing right by the doorway and Gellert reached out to feel an invisible barrier that fell like a veil across the arch. He couldn’t tell what it actually did from the feel of the magic - that was a skill that he had yet to learn, but he could guess that it was some kind of barrier to keep the weather out.

Stepping inside, he could only marvel at what they had accomplished in such a short time - what the power of their sorcery had accomplished. The floor was a smooth and dark, a contrast to the white, glistening walls and the glittering, refracted light that danced across the room from the icicle-encased witchlights. Snow fell in big, fluffy flakes that disappeared before they could settle, brushing his head and shoulders like cool feathers.

He took his throne on the dais, in front of the unlit bonfire of shattered beams, Hermione and Berg stopping by the door to welcome guests. He barely had time to fully fix the ceremonial mask over his face before the first guest arrived.

It was somewhat gratifying to see the expressions of awe on the faces of everyone who walked through the doorway. The ballroom looked spectacular, although why they would expect anything else when both Hermione, Anneken and his mother had been involved in the decorating...

The pile of offerings was notably smaller than two years ago but he tried to put it out of his mind and focused on Hermione. She was greeting people at the door with his mother, who still leaned on the healing staff that had been gifted to her by Gorlois. There hadn’t been a Yule celebration the year before, but in that time his sister had grown from the quiet, pretty and darling Grindelwald ward; a curiosity because his family never took new bloods as wards. Now, she was a powerful young witch in her own right and she stood next to his mother, greeting their guests by name with an incline of her head that fitted her status as High Priestess. He wondered if she could see such obvious differences in him? He still felt like the same Gellert Grindelwald, he might have been imagining it but the nods seemed slightly different - perhaps there was a slight bend at the waist there, and a brush of a skirt hem against the ground as a witch curtsied?

At his mother’s nod, he started the ritual. Words rolled off his tongue with ease but his eyes followed Hermione, Anneken and the other coven witches as they patrolled the edges of the crowd, alert for any sign that something was amiss whilst the wizards performed the ritual that would bless the next season. The pale shape of Star soared overhead, the smaller form of Katana glittering like a moon as the Longma accompanied the massive golden bird.

He looked back to Berg who was the link for his very first time. It was easier to work with his brother’s familiar magic, and Gellert found it almost laughably easy to force the magic offered by the link into the roaring fire that burned around him. He may not be able to perform the unprecedented feats that Hermione pulled off every day, but once he’d performed a piece of magic he never forgot it.

As it had two years ago, the burning gifts roared higher and higher. The robes protected him and he had to blink a couple of times to clear his memory of the last time he’d been surrounded by fire. The moment passed quickly as the fire burned into smoke, the phoenix forming to the raucous cheers of the guests. He did not allow himself to relax, tearing after the bird and into the cleared courtyard. Hermione met him, her hair and dress whipping about her as Star and Katana settled behind her. She already held Kelpie’s reins and she pressed a quick kiss to Gellert’s brow, wishing him luck as he mounted up.

‘Remember, blue sparks and we’ll be there in a moment.’ She reminded him as he swung Kelpie around. The thunder of his hooves was lost to the shuddering booms of beasts taking flight. Katana whizzed over his head, bare-backed whilst Hermione rode Star up high into the sky to keep an eye on him. The smoky phoenix soared over his head, circling the host once before soaring out and down the pathway. With a warcry, he urged Kelpie after it, hooves thundering behind him as he was trailed through the crumbling gardens and through a collapsed section of wall.

The bird was difficult to follow, swooping down the overgrown trail and plunging into deep, impenetrable undergrowth. More than once he lost sight of it and cold fear began to trickle into his chest, freezing his heart into an unsteady beat. They could not afford another failed ritual, not after the year they’d just had. He had to find the Yule log, there was no other choice.

Kelpie jumped, twisted and spun, weaving between trees and clearing undergrowth with serpentine agility. More and more wizards fell behind as they were led deeper into the hills, mounts unable to go any further at the pace they were forced to keep. He caught a glimpse of the smoky tail whipping between two large, mossy stones and faltered. Kelpie was wheezing heavily and they were about to cross the boundaries of the muggle repelling charm. Branches lashed at his robes and glanced off the golden mask of the Yule costume. He was almost knocked from his position, bent low over Kelpie’s shoulder, several times and once he was almost thrown as his beast swerved to avoid an obstacle.

He shook himself and pushed onwards, bursting through the delicate magical barrier and emerging onto a dirty muggle track. The shifting form of the bird was a fearful distance down the road and he tried to turn Kelpie after it, and his beast swung into a lumbering canter.

The bird drew further away. Cold air burned in his lungs, but the pain was nothing compared to the urgent pounding of his head and heart.

A screech echoed above him and he glanced up to see Katana soaring just overhead. Angular wings brushed the hedgerows to either side of him and then with a heavy thud the draconian horse landed just ahead of him, wings awkwardly arched to fit into the tight gap. The Longma drew alongside them just as Kelpie stumbled and Gellert realised that Hermione had probably sent her beast for this exact reason. He reached out awkwardly, tangling one hand in the silky mane of the Longma and kicking his feel free of the stirrups. Then, before he could think better of it, he threw himself sideways out of the saddle.

He landed heavily across Katana’s bony back and the beast stumbled as Gellert desperately tried to find purchase on his slick, slippery scales. A hoof lashed his dangling foot just as his sore hand found the opposite wing joint and he wriggled upwards, slithering his right leg over Katana’s back. The beast didn’t even wait for him to secure his grip, launching into the air with a powerful snap of his wings.

He hated flying and Katana certainly didn’t help. His speed was dazzling, shooting like a bolt of silver lightning and catching up with the distant phoenix with ease. Gellert remained draped across the beast’s back, his legs desperately gripping his hindquarters and his elbows hooked awkwardly around the wing joints. He didn’t dare to fix his position at the speed they were flying at, but he could tuck his head into his elbow to look behind him. Kelpie had stopped and was a dark silhouette in the distance, barely visible on the dark track. In the air, a handful of thestrals were still keeping up and further behind was the more colourful array of hippogriffs and Granians.

They flashed over a small coppice of trees, then screeched to a halt. Silence fell as the silvery wings beat around him, circling slowly. Gellert hauled himself up, eyes scanning nervously.

‘In there?’ A Russian voice asked, calling from the first of the thestrals to catch up.

‘I hope.’ He panted. Like Hermione often did, he crossed his fingers, praying that the gesture would bring as much luck as she promised it would.

Katana set him down in the field that enclosed the coppice and he dismounted, landing in soft soil. More beasts landed around him, filling the air with the rich scent of carnivorous breath and hot beast.

‘One hell of a chase.’ The Russian who’d spoken to him commented, pulling his fur coat around him as he ducked beneath his beast’s wing. Up close, Gellert realised it was Herr Dolohov.

‘Yeah.’ Gellert agreed, wishing he could pull off the mask to wipe his eyes of the water that had streamed from them.

‘Lucky your sister thought to send that beast. Damned fast.’ The wizard looked over Katana appraisingly and the beast tossed his silver mane as if he knew he was being discussed.

‘Yeah. Come on, lets get looking. Someone send up some gold sparks please.’

He had to cast several cutting spells to force his way into the small patch of woodland, then once he was disguised by the thick wall of briars he lit a witchlight. Men spread out around him, lighting their own lights and methodically checking each tree for the mark of the Yule log.

It was twenty minute later, just as the lumbering abaxans were arriving that the tree was finally found. There was a part of him that had expected it to be particularly impressive after the long chase they had been led on to get it, but it was small - barely large enough to burn for the whole night. The spread wings of the mark almost wrapped the entire way around the trunk and once it was felled, it only took two of the abraxans of lift it.

It was an omen, he knew it. Even though, by Hermione’s quick thinking, they’d found the tree, the year would not be a good one.


	78. Ball

‘Wow.’ Harry said. Theo nodded mutely, his eyes wide.

‘You’ll certainly make an impression.’ His father agreed.

And Hermione knew she would. Her dress was spectacular; ghostly veil-like sleeves and shoulders, heart shaped bodice trimmed with little embroidered versions of the grim on her ring. The skirts were stormy grey, and made of layer upon layer of chiffon so that they looked weightless. The crowning glory of the dress was where the head of a snarling wolf had been embroidered over the back, teeth bared and fearsome. She wore her hair up with her the silver and lapis combs given to her by the Grindelwald family, a blatant display of her allegiance and certainly not the dress of a quiet, obedient pureblood wife.

‘I hope so.’ She replied, forcing herself to look confident despite the heavy nerves which seemed to double the weight of her dress. Both boys looked good as well - Theodore was just one of those people who pulled off dress robes naturally and the extra time they’d spent getting Harry’s deep, burgundy robes expertly tailored had paid off. His hair was still wild, but he looked comfortable and confident. They were ready to debut.

Hermione took Lord Nott’s arm, her fingers lightly resting on his right wrist as he helped her into the floo.

A moment later they stepped out into a monstrous, imposing foyer. The room was dark - no windows, with a black floor and darkly panelled walls. Impressive pillars and stonework surrounded the fireplace but even the hundreds of candles that burned in the iron chandeliers couldn’t penetrate the inherent gloom of such a darkly decorated room. Three elves in dirty pillowcases grovelled at the doorway and one of them shuffled over to accept their invitation, bowing so low that it’s nose scraped the polished floor.

Theodore and Harry appeared with a roar of flames behind them, handing over their invitation as well and the bowing elf shuffled out of the room. Lord Nott led her after it and Hermione was shocked to realise that this was normal - to be greeted by a filthy elf instead of the host and hostess. Lady Grindelwald would have had a fit if any of the elves dared to work looking like that, let alone was seen by a guest.

They were led into another imposing room, this one probably the entrance hall. It too was dark - emerald velvet drapes drawn closed over massive windows and larger than life portraits of scowling, silver haired men in black robes. It was here that they were finally greeted by the host and hostess.

Lucius Malfoy was tall, dressed in expensive looking green robes. His long hair had been pulled back by a black ribbon and he held a serpent headed cane in his left hand. She was willing to bet the cane held his wand too, but the whole thing was rather classy in a pretentious, nouveau-riche kind of way.

His wife was the perfect match; her gown was golden and embroidered with hundreds of tiny peacocks, whose tails matched the colour of her husband’s robes perfectly. Her hair was pulled up into an elegant, modern coil and her ears were draped with thumb sized emeralds.

Draco was stood between them, his dress robes a minute of his father’s. He was the first to spot them, his eyes growing wide as he took her in. Lord Malfoy’s eyes snapped to them a moment later, widening in outrage as Lady Malfoy’s hand flew to her lips. They drew to a stop in front of the guests.

‘Lucius, such a pleasure!’ Lord Nott virtually crowed. ‘May I introduce the Lady Hermione, High Priestess of Gorlois and ward of the Ancient house of Grindelwald.’

And Lucius Malfoy baulked at the titles, unable to argue them without causing a scene. Hermione inclined her head - he was only Locum Patriarch after all, at least until his father finally died.

‘Lord Nott, Lady Hermione.’ Lady Malfoy stepped in with a curtesy, the epitome of a society wife. She was graceful even as her husband glared daggers as them. ‘Please, come through and enjoy the night.’ 

They dawdled whilst Theo took his turn introducing Harry and she knew that Lord Nott was taking great pleasure in how Lord Malfoy looked like he was having to physically restrain himself from lashing out. A moment later the two boys joined them again and they emerged onto the top of a short flight of stairs. The ballroom was like the rest of the house - dark and decorated in emerald green and silver. This one was salvaged from gloominess by the hundreds of guests in their glittering finery. Gold seemed to be the fashionable colour this year, along with pastel pinks and dark greens, so Hermione stood out in her grey dress like a cat in an owlery. They drew a lot of attention and a hush descended over the room as whispered voices demanded to know who she was and whether that was really Harry Potter just behind her.

Lord Nott preened and Hermione concealed her smug expression behind a facade of a polite smile.

It felt like the whole room was listening as a tall, dark skinned woman in an emerald dress that would have had even Anneken blushing swanned up to them. She was stunningly beautiful but Hermione couldn’t help but be reminded of Cruella De Vil when she saw the green eyeshadow and crimson, claw like nails.

‘Lord Nott, such a pleasure.’ The woman crooned. ‘And just who is this little gem?’

‘Hermione of Gorlois, ward of Grindelwald.’ Lord Nott introduced her again, shocked gasps rippled through the guests. ‘This is the Lady Zabini, I believe her son is a peer of yours.’

Hermione once again inclined her head as Lady Zabini tittered. Another woman pushed through, her elegant rose coloured dress squeezing between two black-clad wizards.

‘As in, the Dark Wizard Grindelwald?’ The witch demanded.

‘We were raised by the same woman, but his actions were not endorsed or representative of our house’s views.’ Hermione replied coldly, even as it hurt to disavow her brother in such a way. Unfortunately, he had left her with no option.

‘Mother...’ Daphne Greengrass had appeared, gently tugging at the witch’s arm.

‘No? Where were your family when you Patriarch was slaughtering his way through Europe?’ Lady Greengrass demanded.

‘Mother!’ Daphne pulled at her mother’s arm again.

‘No, that’s okay.’ Hermione said, smiling cooly. ‘My family were doing exactly the same as yours were when Voldemort slaughtered his way through Britain. Either dead, or hiding.’

Shocked gasps punctuated her words, several witches swooning. Lord Nott jerked in shock but Hermione dug her nails into his arm to hold him exactly where he was. Lady Greengrass had stepped backwards sharply, her hand clutching at her chest and her mouth gaping like a fish.

‘Now, if you’re quite finished throwing stones from your glass house, I would greatly appreciate it if we could enjoy this party with no more talk of politics.’ The young witch added imperiously, turning to Lord Nott, who’s face was still pasty white and asking if they could go and get refreshments.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea to make way to the drinks table.

‘You’re something else, High Priestess.’ Lord Nott eventually croaked after he’d sat for several long minutes and finished the calming drink that his son had brought him.

‘I try.’ She smiled and the elderly man shook his head in awe.

‘Excuse me?’ A timid voice asked form behind them. Hermione turned to see a young witch, perhaps thirty years old and dressed in a pale gold dress that had been stylishly accessorised by an emerald belt and jewellery. Seeing that she had her attention, the witch took a deep breath. ‘Could you tell me where you got that dress? It’s absolutely magical.’

‘It was designed by an old family friend; Anneken.’ Hermione replied uncertainly. She didn’t even know if Anneken was still alive, or what had happened to her over the past couple of years. Perhaps she had married Krum, or maybe that betrothal had been broken off and she’d married someone else.

‘Anneken Krum?’ The witch breathed in disbelief. ‘You’ve got a custom gown from Anneken Krum for Winter Ball.’

Ah, apparently she did go through with her betrothal.

‘Yes? Hermione asked questioningly. It sounded like a good thing but she didn’t want to talk it up too much until she knew where she stood with Anneken in this time period.

‘It’s stunning, of course.’ The witch giggled nervously, ‘I mean, everything by Anneken is. I guess I’ll just have to admire from afar then.’

She retreated quickly, returning to a gaggle of similarly aged witches who all huddled around her and bowed in to hear the news. Hermione rolled her eyes, spinning back to face her party. Both Notts were in silent hysterics.

‘What?’ She demanded, exasperated.

‘Whilst I am certainly no expert on the matter.’ Theo began carefully, ‘Pansy has said many times that she’d give her wand arm to have her wedding dress designed by Anneken Krum but that it would probably never happen.’

‘Oh... She really is a family friend.’ Hermione laughed, shaking her head. If she hadn’t already been the talk of the party, she would be now.

A tinkling of a spoon against glass interrupted their conversation and they turned as one to face the staircase. Lady Malfoy looked out over them all, waiting as an expectant hush fell over the room.

‘I am so glad to see you all here again for yet another Christmas Ball. It is such an honour that we have hosted it for another year, and we hope to host it for many years to come.’ Lady Malfoy raised her glass, receiving many more raised glasses in return and a vague echo of “cheers”. ‘I would like to reflect quickly on what a year it has been - my only son, Draco has started Hogwarts along with many other children in this room. The new wing of St. Mungo’s has finally been completed and will be opening soon - please make sure to speak to Lady Greengrass if you wish to attend the opening gala. We celebrated the union between Heir Mulciber and his new wife, Annette Mulciber - yet another noble line that will live on, if rumours of the imminent birth are to be believed...’ Lady Malfoy trailed off.

‘They are!’ A man bellowed from the back of the room, earning scattered laughs.

‘As I said, congratulations. Now, I am sure you’re all impatient, so with no further delay; the orchestra.’

The orchestra stuck up a lively tune and Hermione pulled out her dance card quickly. Harry, Theo and Lord Nott had already filled out spaces and she had carefully struck out her least favourite to make sure she could last the night.

‘May I have this dance?’ Theo asked, bowing deeply even though he knew he was already down for her first dance. Hermione curtsied in reply and offered her hand. They moved together to the middle of the floor, taking a place in a small circle with three other couples.

‘Stand on my feet, and I shall use an incontinence curse on you.’ Hermione reminded him under her breath. Theo laughed, turning her so that they faced as the song began and bowing deeply.

‘I would never, my Lady. On that note, I will reciprocate if you so much as touch me with one of those heels.’ She curtsied, skirts pooling around her. Then she took his hands again, turning back to the pair in front of them and performing another deep curtesy. They were dancing with an elderly couple; the witch was slender and stern whilst her husband actually wore white gloves.

Hermione ignored the scowl that the couple levelled at them, neatly stepping twice to the left, then skipping twice to the right, her feet crossing expertly beneath her gown as Theo and the elderly gentleman danced to the middle of the circle, then twisted around one another and switched partners, leaving Hermione to be led by the old grump through the delicate turn that had them weaving through Theo and the elderly lady in a complex figure of eight. The man’s expression changed to pleasant surprise as she executed it flawlessly and he handed her back to Theo in a smooth spin. Both adults looked much less hostile when they returned to their original spots.

‘They weren’t expecting us to be able to do it.’ Theo commented under his breath as they turned a tight circle together.

‘I don;t know why, the Flora is pretty easy.’ She said, pulling away to circle the young, fresh faced wizard to her right. He caught her trailing hand and she tugged him back to Theo, taking his hand as well and dancing into the middle of the circle again. They bowed, then danced backwards. She paused for a moment whilst Theo did the same, dancing around the woman to his left, grasping her hand and bringing her back to dance into the middle of the circle with Hermione.

‘I recon she’s a dance teacher.’ Hermione said under her breath as they had a brief pause whilst their diagonal couples completed the same routine.

‘Why?’ Theo asked, huffing a light laugh under his breath.

‘He places his feet like he’s about to be whacked by an iron cane.’ Theo glanced quickly at their dance partner’s feet.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a footstep-stutter.’ Theo giggled, allowing himself to be pulled away briefly. A moment later, Hermione was pulled away too, light on her feet as she skipped easily out of the way of the less able diagonal.

They skipped sideways, three steps to the left, then four back the way they had come before she curtsied deeply again, holding the pose as the violin drew to a close. A scattered applause rippled through the room and she nodded to each of the six other dancers, then turned to Theo, receiving a bow from him as well.

‘I’m still offended that I got the shortest.’ He reminded her and she raised an eyebrow, taking his offered arm as he guided her off the floor.

‘But it was the first, at my debut. You should be honoured.’ She reminded him.

‘Herm... er, Lady Hermione?’ A voice said from behind and she turned to see Neville, crammed into a set of black dress robes and hovering nervously in front of someone who could only be his grandmother.

‘Heir Longbottom.’ She smiled at him warmly, hoping to set his nerves at ease.

‘May I have this next dance?’ He glanced nervously back at his mother and Hermione pretended to check her card, as though she didn’t know that her next spot was free.

‘Certainly.’ She curtsied in reply to his bow and Theo handed her hand off with a friendly grumble.

Neville wore silk gloves and she felt very sorry for him as he adjusted his bow tie awkwardly on the way back over to the floor.

‘Grandmother make you wear that?’ Hermione asked, allowing him to find them a place in one of the lines between two couples that were probably also still Hogwarts students.

‘Yeah.’ Neville shifted awkwardly, waiting for the intro to the contra as if he were waiting for a countdown to his own hanging.

‘Should I be offended that she also forced you to dance with me?’ She asked lightly. Neville blanched and she snorted in an unladylike manner.

‘I... I would have asked you anyway.’ He stuttered, going pink to his ears.

‘No you wouldn’t. If anything, you would have waited at the edge until I stopped for a break and spoken to me then.’ She curtsied deeply as the intro finally played. Neville hurriedly bowed and scrambled to catch up as they circled one another, then backed back to the outside of the line again. He was a second late again as they repeated the movement, but to her surprise he didn’t crash into her once.

‘Circle.’ She whispered to him when they were close. This time he was perfectly on time, raising his right hand and moving in a clockwise circle with those in their group. then he stepped back cleanly, allowing the even couples to join, pass between them and circle back to their spot around the outside.

‘In.’ She hissed, stepping forward, grasping his gloved hands. ‘Out.’ She stepped back to the reach of their arms. ‘In.’ She stepped back in. ‘Turn.’ She pivoted neatly, releasing his left hand and was surprised when he actually led down the middle of the row, peeling of and circling around the outside and back to his spot.

He was a passable dancer, even if he didn’t remember the steps. Her feet remained un-trodden - that is, until she finally completed the dance with Neville, allowing him to scurry back to the safety of the refreshment table and Flint stepped in to take her third dance. Flint was a burly, aggressive boy that was on the Slytherin Quidditch team. He knew the steps, but didn’t seem to care about where his feet ended up in the process of performing them. It felt rather like dancing with a lumbering troll and by the time he had lumbered through a lancier, she was more than glad to be able to retreat to the refreshment table.

Harry had managed to land himself a dance for this one, much to Theo’s amusement. She looked out, eventually spying him with one of his Gryffindor classmates. Harry wasn’t doing too badly, considering he’d only been learning the dances for a week but it was still enough to leave her smiling as she took a seat and wished bitterly that it was ladylike to massage her feet.

Her next dance was with Lord Nott and he was wonderful to dance with, despite being taller than her. He knew every step and performed them with the ease that only came with decades of practice. Like when she danced with Gellert, Hermione could really relax and let him lead her through a Volta.

She was still smiling when Lucius Malfoy caught her at the end of the dance, politely requesting her next. She had to fight not to scowl, because it would be incredibly rude to turn down the host and she was forced to accept his offer.

It was a slow dance, designed to let them catch their breath after the Volta, which allowed for plenty of conversation.

‘You are a bold witch, Miss Gorlois.’ Lucius Malfoy commented. ‘To claim your name and assume you are due respect because of it.’

‘I am due respect because I command a Sect.’ She replied, as cool as if she were discussing the weather.

‘That does not give you authority.’ Malfoy sneered. ‘Ancestry, bloodlines and galleons and I have all three in spades.’

‘Your ancestry is nothing compared to mine. Your family was squabbling in the dirt and cursing french peasants whilst mine was dancing with kings and shaping empires. I too have wealth, perhaps not as much as you but I have something you don’t; the magical power to bring down a kingdom, or raise one should I chose.’

‘Magical power did not get your Patriarch an Empire, nor the Dark Lord a kingdom. Yet here I sit, controlling the country with my galleons.’ Lucius spat in reply.

‘I am not Gellert, nor am I Voldemort. I am Hermione of Gorlois and I carry the blood of legends.’ She threw back her head proudly.

‘Arrogance is not flattering.’ Malfoy informed her.

‘Likewise.’ She retorted. ‘Your arrogance will lead to your downfall.’

There was a brief pause in the conversation as he spun her twice.

‘I know that you’re lying. That you’re not a ward of Grindelwald.’ Malfoy hissed when they once more faced one another. ‘Katerina Grindelwald died in 1898 and was survived by only Gellert Grindelwald. He has been in prison for decades and has not received a single visitor. You cannot have performed the ritual.’

‘How interesting.’ Hermione said casually, ignoring the knot in her stomach. She had assumed her Matriarch had died, but she had no idea of when. To know that she could count the years they had left together on one hand was devastating. ‘Perhaps you should visit Gellert yourself and ask him. I’m sure he knows exactly how the ritual was performed. He was there, after all.’

Malfoy fell silent. He wouldn’t ask Grindelwald, Hermione knew, even though as a patriarch he technically had the authority to petition for a meeting, that he wouldn’t actually want to meet with the notorious villain.

‘Blood will prevail, Miss Gorlois. We shall see who comes out on top.’ Malfoy finally purred as the dance drew to a close.

She took the next one out, even though she had to turn down three offers to do so and made her way to the table where Harry sat.

‘Let’s have our dance next.’ She told him firmly. ‘I want to go home.’


	79. Vision

He heard the explosion first, deep and heavy, followed by the heavy whomp of a shockwave. He ducked instinctively, shielding his head with his hands as dirt rained over him. Men shouted in English around him, jostling his body as they stepped forwards as one unit. Another command, lost to another screeching explosion. More dirt was thrown over him, spraying into his eyes and clogging his throat.

The nearest man was perched on a ladder, long muggle weapon drawn and carried in one hand. A savage, gleaming knife was attached to the end and he breathed heavily as their commander bellowed another command. A piercing whistle split the moment of silence, then the men roared, clambering up their ladders and over the top of the earthen barricade.

He scrambled after them into a hail of what seemed like spellfire. Invisible curses that cracked in flashes of fire and sent the English men flying backwards. There was another screech and fire and dirt exploded to his right, bodies tossed like rag dolls. Mud and blood splattered his face and arms as he scrambled over a mount of metal thorns. He landed heavily on the other side in a deep puddle, his feet sticking and sending him tumbling.

A hoarse cry tore form his throat as he came face to face with a bloated, decaying corpse. He scrambled back and away, up onto the torn but dry land to the side of the crater. A hand snatched at his jacket, heaving him up and tossing him in the direction that everyone else was running. Terrified, he obeyed even as men fell around him, stumbling and tripping over uneven ground, through smoke and dirt.

People fought back around him, their long muggle wands spraying fire and invisible spells even as they were mown down. The ground around him shook, heaving beneath his feet. He tripped, falling and landing on another body. His hand sunk into warm, sticky entrails and he screamed again.

‘Gellert! Wake up!’

His eyes snapped open, and he heaved over the side of his bed. Nothing came up, but his shoulders shuddered as hot tears ran down his face.

‘it’s alright, it was just a dream.’ Someone said. Someone else rubbed his back reassuringly, helping to untangle him from his blankets.

He pushed everyone away, stumbling past the shadowed faces of his dorm mates and barging out into the corridor. The freezing air that flowed in through the small window was blessed relief and he heaved a sigh, pressing his face into the slit. Frigid air stung his chest, calming his racing heart and reminding him that he was not there - not in that awful place.

Yet.

Berg brought his cloak out at some point and he remained sitting there, wrapped in the garment until the sun peaked over the horizon and his lips were blue with cold.

He slipped back into the dorm room, dressing before anyone else was awake and leaving again, making his way out to the grounds to go for a ride. As usual, he chucked a couple of gifts into the water for the Mer people at the bottom of the fjord - a glass vial and a box of sewing pins that he’d made in transfiguration.

He felt no more settled at lunch time, so instead of returning to the dorm room to do homework, he instead took a left, climbing into a part of the castle that he’d never visited before - the teacher’s wing.

There were plaques on all of the doors, informing him who he would find inside should he knock.

He kept walking until he reached Professor Ezra.

‘Come in, Gellert.’ The professor called before he could knock. Unsurprised, he pushed the door open.

Professor Ezra sat at her desk. As she so often preached, her workspace was immaculate. She had two sheets of parchment on her desk, a paintbrush and ink held loosely in her right hand and her eyes closed. An image of his face was already completed, peering uncertainly around a door that was unmistakably hers. The second image looked like slices of ham and bread on a plate.

He took a seat quietly so as not to disturb her concentration as her hand skimmed over the parchment, adding several more dark lines to complete the image with an apple.

She opened her mismatched eyes, looking down at the picture she’d drawn and sighing in frustration.

‘Yet again, I have predicted what I will be eating for lunch.’ She sighed, cleaning her brush with a wash of magic and putting it away. Then she scrunched up both sheets and tossed them into the waste basket by the door. ‘The trick is to ask a question without closing the eye, I’m certain of it.’

The professor’s brows drew together, then she shook her head, looking up at him.

‘What can I help you with today, Gellert?’

He took a moment to collect himself.

‘I had a dream.’ He said simply. His divination professor nodded in understanding.

‘I will not demean you by asking if it was just a dream, but I must ask if it was similar to the last one?’ She asked.

‘No. It wasn’t.’ He said decisively. ‘I wasn’t me this time, or I was me, but I didn’t have my magic or my family bonds. I wasn’t hurt by anything, even though I’m sure I should have been.’

‘So like watching a memory in a pensieve?’ His teacher asked and he shook his head.

’Except they could touch me. Someone picked me up in it, and made me keep running.’

‘Another battle?’ Professor Ezra asked, leaning forwards. He nodded, putting his inherited wand to his temple and drawing out the memory. The professor reached under her desk to pull out a pensieve and he dropped the memory of his dream into it.

‘I don’t want to see it again.’ He announced pushing the bowl towards her. She nodded acceptingly and dipped her head into the water.

Gellert waited nervously, looking around the bare office. There wasn’t really much to look at; Professor Ezra believed that clutter would disrupt her focus on the future, and consequently preached tidiness. She had lamented many times that her gift just wasn’t as powerful as Gellert’s and that she really had to focus to see clear visions of anything. His was the opposite - he often found himself bombarded by images when he focused on any of the mediums but he agreed that organisation helped with focus.

Professor Ezra straightened, her expression haggard.

‘What do you think it is?’ He asked, praying that she’d tell him it was just an ordinary dream.

‘Definitely a premonition.’

He sagged.

‘But they’re all muggles. Not a single wizard in it. Those are rifles, muggle weapons. They use a kind of explosive to force a lead pellet out of the tube. It flies through the air and hits the target like a spell.’

‘So it’s a muggle war?’ He checked. His professor shrugged.

‘I imagine.’

Gellert relaxed slightly, relieved to know that at least nobody he knew was involved this time.

‘Do you think I see things for a reason?’ He asked after a moment of consideration. Last time, it was only because he’d seen the vision that Hermione had given him her protection rune which saved both him and his mother from burning alive in the initial explosion. Was this another warning?

‘Nobody knows. Divination is one of the least understood disciplines.’ His teacher said, pulling another sheet from her desk. ‘Whilst my foresight is nothing quite so grand as yours, I did see this earlier. I thought you might appreciate it.’

Gellert accepted the sheet of parchment curiously. It appeared to be the duelling beach, near the far end where he usually stood to throw his offerings to the Mer. He was puzzled, until Professor Ezra leaned forwards and tapped a small detail at the base of the pile of rocks.

‘I believe this might be a wand, returned by some lake denizen?’

‘There’s nothing at the bottom of the fjord.’ He answered automatically. Professor Ezra raised a single brow.

‘Okay.’ She agreed, obviously amused. ‘But I still believe this is yours. Perhaps returned by chance - conveniently resting on a rather wonderful shell.’

‘Yes, chance.’ He agreed, ‘Thank you, I will be glad to have it back.’

‘My pleasure. Let me know if anything else troubles you. I’ll keep this memory in case we need to review it later.’

He sketched a bow as he left, still clutching the parchment. Feeling lighter, he headed down to find his wand.


	80. Flamel

‘I know something you want to know!’ Hermione crowed. Ron Weasley looked at her in irritation, scowling over the massive, dry looking book he was reading.

‘What?’ He snapped. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy.’

‘Oh, but you’ll want to know this.’

She folded herself delicately into the chair opposite him, smoothing her pristine robes in a way that she knew he found incredibly “Slytherin”.

‘Hermione!’ Harry moaned, ‘Seriously, we’ve got so much homework. We really don’t have time for this.’

‘Well you should have done it earlier then, shouldn’t you.’

Ron scoffed.

‘Oh, obviously Harry, we should have wasted out whole holiday with homework.’ Ron imitated in a high pitched voice.

‘Well, if you’re going to be nasty, I won’t tell you what I know then.’ She folded her robes over again and picked up her bag, bracing her hands against the table as if she was about to stand. ‘Such a shame, I thought you were really interested in Nicholas Flamel.’

They took longer than she had expected to react and she was actually standing before Ron hollered at her to wait. She looked back down at him imperiously.

‘What do you want?’ Ron gritted, ‘and nothing to do with quidditch - we’re not sabotaging the cup.’

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. She couldn’t care less about quidditch or who won the cup.

‘I want to know why you’re trying to find him - and before you say anything, I promise you won’t find him at the rate you’re going.’

The boys shared a look and could see Ron deferring to Harry. That was virtually a wrap then, Harry might not trust her with this apparently, but she doubted it would be much of a step when he already trusted her with everything else. It would be much more likely that Ron trusting her at least.

‘You can’t tell anyone, not Nott or any of the teachers.’ Ron laid out. Hermione rolled her eyes.

‘Do I look like the kind of person that blabs to a teacher at he first opportunity?’ She took her seat again and used her wand to cast a privacy ward. The poor bit of wood took to the task with relish and she wondered if it had enough sentience to feel neglected when she did most of her casting without it.

The whole story spilled out, how they’d figured out that something very valuable was hidden within the depths of the school, and that they thought Snape was after it. Hermione took a moment to absorb the information, then shared what she knew of Nicholas Flamel and that the item was certainly the philosopher’s stone.

They were missing some massive pieces of the puzzle, she knew it. She couldn’t think of any motivation for Snape to steal the stone - if he was powerful enough to break into Gringotts, he certainly wouldn’t be teaching at a school, he would be earning his fortune as a wardmaster. She also thought that whilst immortality would appeal to anyone, he would have to live in hiding if he actually achieved it. Immortality was hardly subtle, and exile would put a damper on eternal life.

She was more inclined to think that Snape was just a convenient scapegoat, particularly considering the vendetta that he and Harry already shared. Personally, she would have just put the stone in a box and buried it somewhere on Orkney. If nobody knew where it was, then nobody could find it and with so much powerful magic residue on the island, it would be impossible to track the signature.

She mulled over it for the next couple of weeks, unable to understand why they’d chosen a school of all places to hide something so valuable.

Unfortunately, the world wasn’t willing to sit still whilst she pondered this. Exams were approaching and she was determined to do better on them than anyone ever had before, along with her friends. She set up revision meetings in the library, in addition to the wandless magic lessons she already delivered and they worked as a trio to try and remember every pointless fact about Ulric the Oddball and the reactions between obscure potion ingredients in unlikely conditions. Neville occasionally joined them, trailing Harry and offering up his mind boggling, natural understanding knowledge of Herbology.

At the same time, she spent hours researching Avalon. As the goblins had said, there were almost no mentions of it in any literature and anything that might have been even a vague location was conveniently damaged. She’d tried to ask at the barrows but even the statue of Morgana had somehow been magically gagged.

The best she had was actually her parent’s muggle theory that it was in Wales... somewhere. Wales was an awfully big place to go hunting for an invisible island.

Her final project what the matter of Harry’s seal and that at least had a clear pathway forwards. They’d spent hours writing and rewriting the letter, changing the wording and the presentation again and again until it was perfect. The problem was that none of them really knew Madam Bones. They didn’t want the letter to sound too formal and pureblood, because then it would be obvious that someone other than Harry had done most of the writing but at the same time it needed to sound formal enough to pass as correspondence to an important stranger in the ministry of magic. They spent hours debating over whether it should be phrased as a request because Harry was an important person and he absolutely had a right to meet with his guardian, or whether he should plead slightly because he would certainly get he pity vote if he did.

Finally, they had to actually write the letter. Harry wanted one of them to write it in their elegant calligraphy but Theo insisted that the ministry would be able to tell if anyone other than him had written it. The pureblood had ended up writing it out for him and harry had copied every stroke and line until he too could produce the letter in confident, elegant strokes.

The reply had taken a week and a half to arrive, Hedwig spiralling down during breakfast. Harry had appeared at the Slytherin table a moment later with the missive clutched in his hand.

‘Guys, its here!’ He took the seat opposite him, oblivious to the glares of the Slytherins around him. He waved the letter then passed it over to them. Hermione took it, glancing over the DMLE seal on the back and the elegant writing that addressed the front. It was reasonable quality, no nonsense parchment that suggested that Madam Bones wasn’t overly concerned with appearances, even as she held herself to the highest standard.

‘You open it.’ She prompted Harry, passing the letter back to him. The boy who lived took it and bent the seal between his fingers until it snapped, black wax crumbling across the table. He unfolded the letter and scanned it quickly.

‘Go on, what does it say?’ Theo demanded after a moment and Harry took a deep breath.

‘Dear Mister Potter, I was most surprised and pleased to receive your correspondence. I once worked very closely with both of your parents and was saddened to hear that you know so little of them. I imagine it must be very painful for your aunt and uncle to speak of them.’ Harry scoffed, shaking his head. He’d already shared the story of his aunt and uncle who were very much unaffected by his parent’s death.

‘I understand that you wish to receive answers, but I must caution you that Sirius Black is a madman. Particularly after ten years in Azkaban, you are unlikely to receive any valuable information. In the meantime, I have enclosed a photograph of your parents.

Should you still wish to organise a meeting with Sirius Black, I would suggest that we meet face to face over the summer and we can complete the necessary paperwork. You will require someone with a seal as well as identity documents from Gringotts.

Sincerely, Madam Bones... Blah blah.’ Harry didn’t bother to read off what Hermione knew would be an extensive list of titles that none of them really cared about until they actually had to meet her.

‘We can use my seal, and I’m sure Ragnuk can organise the documents for a price.’

‘You don’t think... you don’t think he’s actually gone mad do you?’ Harry asked uncertainly after a moment.

‘You’d have to be pretty mad to kill thirteen people with a single curse.’ Theo said sombrely.

‘Not really.’ Hermione pursed her lips. ‘He could also have been really desperate. There’s lots of area affect spells that could seriously hurt everyone in range.’

‘Okay, but you’d have to be really messed up to use one in a crowded space.’ Theo shook his head and Hermione shrugged, not wanting to mention that even a tickling charm could be made deadly if one overpowered it.

‘Let’s just write a reply in the library during lunch. We’ll ask to organise a meeting at a later date, when you know that you’ll be able to make it.’ Hermione decided. Her two friends nodded and they all got up, heading to their classes.


	81. Split

It had started off as a pleasant dinner with the whole coven and their families present. Lady Grindelwald sat on a throne-like chair at the head of the long polished table. The remaining members of her coven were arrayed to either side of her, partners at their sides and children sitting at the far end, when Gellert took the spot opposite his mother.

They’d had fun through the starter, his peers chatting about their classes at Durmstrang and quizzing Hermione about Hogwarts. It was almost like they were counted as children again rather than the young adults that everyone seemed to treat them as now.

The jovial atmosphere broke as the main course was pulled out. Frau Fleiss’ question about the upcoming Beltane ritual drifted through the conversation at Gellert’s end of the table.

The deafening silence that met her words stole every warm feeling from the room.

‘We will not be hosting a Beltane ritual again.’ Herr Freidl sat straight in his seat despite the terrible glare his High Witch focused on him.

‘You can’t, or you wont?’ His mother demanded.

‘We wont. I have been observing the British. They never risk the terrible consequences of a failed ritual and seem to suffer very little for lack of the blessing, using new potions and spells to ensure healthy crops and animal fertility.’

‘So you are going to abandon the old ways.’ Herr Lintzen growled. ‘Because they don’t serve you now, when they have served our families for centuries.’

‘If I must. The old needs to make way for the new, better way. If not, we end up stagnating as the world moves around us.’

‘You sound like one of Dumortier’s.’ One of the others said coldly. He didn’t know if it was imagined, or a physical manifestation of the fury in the room but it felt like the temperature was plummeting.

‘Perhaps. But I am not going to stop you performing your outdated religion. I will simply no longer endorse it.’ Herr Freidl had placed his hands on the table, and his wife gripped his right hand firmly. She too looked firm in her decision and Gellert remembered that she was a new blood from Beauxbatons. He wondered how large a part she’d played in this decision.

‘If you will not support the old ways, then there is no place for you in this coven.’ His mother decreed. Her face was like a mask of stone, blank and regal as she reached for the staff that Hermione’s family had given her. She pushed herself up to her full height, towering over everyone who was still seated.

‘I see that you care only for your authority, and not for the friendship I believed we had forged.’ Herr Freidl stood too. Despite being similar heights, there was something about his mother that made her seem much larger.

‘Our friendship dissolved when you denounced everything we stand for. You can not pick and choose which old customs you keep. If you will not respect the traditions, you may not enjoy the rewards of the coven.’ Herr Lintzen stood up as well, his hand reaching for Lady Grindelwald’s shoulder. His wife stood beside him, slipping her hand into his other.

‘Don’t make me do this.’ Frau Hassel begged, standing and joining hands in confrontation against her brother. The other three witches joined her quickly, linking hands. Herr Hawdon only hesitated for a moment before standing as well. Anneken’s hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him away from the table and he realised that all the other children were already gone, removed by their older peers. With one last glance at the diminished coven, looming over the two Freidls, he allowed himself to be led from the room.

The mood in the corridor was solemn. The two Hawdon twins were crying as kindly Mareike Dünhaupt rubbed a hand up their backs, muttering condolences. Albert Freidl sat alone on the opposite wall, isolated and crying even more heavily than the two Hawdons. The children were all shooting him dark looks.

Hermione’s hand wrapped around his in the semi-darkness, pulling him further down the corridor and into a shadowed alcove. Berg and Anneken already sat, mindless of the dusty floor on their robes and looking up at them with wide, expectant eyes.

Hermione sat down, pulling him down with them as magic built behind the distant closed doors -Latin chanting, ancient and terrible.

‘I want us to all make a promise.’ Hermione said quietly, leaning in so that nobody outside their little circle could hear her words. ‘That one day, we will form a coven unlike anything seen before. Our coven will be built on friendship, on family and on a shared ambition.’

‘What ambition?’ Anneken asked, her voice lowered to match Hermione’s.

‘To bring back the old ways, to heal the rifts in the wizarding world.’ The young witch promised fervently. ‘Because change is coming, but it will not be the last change. We will restore the people’s faith, remind them of what they have forgotten. We will be a blend of the new and old, of tradition and innovation.’

‘Yes.’ Berg breathed.

‘I will always stand behind you.’ Gellert swore, his eyes glowing.

‘I have believed in you from the start.’ Anneken agreed.

Hermione reached for the middle of the circle holding her palm upwards. Gellert dropped his own hand on top of hers and Berg followed. A moment later, Anneken’s delicate hand landed on top of the pile.

‘To your coven.’ Berg murmured.

There was magic in the air, a different magic than the one in the room behind them. This was not ancient magic guided by ritual words. This was a glowing flower, petals unfurling like flames fuelled by their combined want and will. It wrapped around their joined hands, tingling against his fingertips and lighting their faces with golden light.

‘Semper ad meloria.’ Hermione promised, Latin dripping from her tongue in a pledge.

‘Always towards better things.’ They all promised in reply.

Like a vow, the golden magic wound up his wrist but it did not carry the warning burn that threatened death. It was comforting, like the hush of a library, the warm spice of mulled wine and the softness of Hermione’s hugs. The light faded softly, but the sensation remained.

They remained, hands clasped, uncertain what kind of promise they’d just wrought for several log minutes. Slowly, the magic faded, allowing the real world to penetrate their little bubble. Tension once more thickened the air and the nervous muttering of the other coven children drifted down the corridor.

The door at the end of the corridor slammed open and sharp footsteps cracked down the hallway. Hermione jumped up, yanking them all up with her. A moment later she tore free of them so that she faced out into the corridor. Gellert found himself stepping forwards to flank her whilst Berg took her left. Anneken, taller than them all, stood behind her.

The footsteps only paused briefly as Herr Freidl paused to haul his son up and pass him off to his wife. The ex-coven member paused when he reached them and Gellert took a moment to take in the unusual pallor of his face and the way his magic seemed to tremble with the aftershocks of the severed coven bonds. Their quartet could take him, as he was now.

Hermione raised her chin and crossed her arms, fixing the older wizard with one of her own glares.

‘So like your mother, Miss Grindelwald.’ Herr Freidl purred, a tone that Gellert had never heard him use before. He had always been the slightly soft, friendly healer that helped wherever he could. The dark angles of his face were unfamiliar now. ‘It is a shame to see such a promising youth fall to the mistakes of their elders.’

‘It is a shame you couldn’t hold onto your convictions.’ Hermione purred in reply, then she blatantly ignored him, adjusting her posture so that the patriarch was clearly excluded from the conversation and she spoke directly to Albert Freidl.

‘Your parent’s decisions need not define you. Should you wish to return to us, the doors will always be open.’

Albert Freidl nodded uncertainly, eyes still tear streaked. Hermione’s smile turned from welcoming and friendly to lethal coldness as her attention shifted to the two adults.

‘Well? Do you not have a revolution to pander to?’ She demanded sharply. Herr Freidl reared up in outrage, looming over the younger witch. Hermione remained completely still and apparently unintimidated, even as she was forced to shift her chin up even further to maintain eye contact.

‘You little...’ Herr Freidl spat, his hand raised to strike her.

A hand shot out, wrapping firmly around Herr Freidl’s dark wrist. A figure had materialised in the space behind him, the white sigil on his cloak almost glowing in the gloomy corridor. Mordred purred his disapproval, forcing the hand back down with ease that came of spending his lifetime swinging a sword. The dark wizard slipped around him, placing himself just at Hermione’s left, not quite in front of her but close enough that he could quickly step in if necessary.

For the first time, he glimpsed what they would become in the future - what Mordred had seen so long ago. Hermione at their head; powerful, untouchable, regal. A queen in all but name. At her back, her court. Not equal, nobody could ever be her equal, but trusted and essential to her position none the less. Mordred - dark, wild and fearsome, her enforcer. Berg - quiet and knowledgable, her researcher. Anneken - beautiful, confident, the society witch. Him, Gellert Grindelwald - powerful, devoted, he was Hermione’s supporter, his magic was the perfect counter to hers, dark to light, calm to wild, ice to fire. Together, they were everything. There were gaps in the lineup still, he knew, there would be others and Hermione, their leader, their High Priestess would value them all for their different talents.

Herr Freidl observed them coldly for a moment, his eyes roving over their rigid posture and closed, expressions.

‘You shall fall.’ He finished coldly before striding away, cloak snapping behind him. His wife and son scurried behind, Albert glancing back once with a kind of desperate loss before he was hauled around the corner by his mother.


	82. Dragons

She called it the incident with the dragon. She hadn’t actually known about the dragon until the morning after it was sent off - Ron had somehow convinced Harry that she was too Slytherin and untrustworthy to know about it. The hundred and fifty house points that had disappeared from the hourglasses was impossible to hide however and for some reason Ron seemed to feel like she was somehow responsible for Slytherin taking the lead in the house cup.

It made spending time with Harry very, very difficult. He and the other Gryffindors that had been caught outside had become deeply unpopular, so he and Ron now clung to each other like limpets. The only positive was perhaps Neville, who had also suffered the damage of the night it did not have a peer to lean on. Hermione was more than happy to let him into her and Theo’s studying sessions.

Neville was very shy, even after he got to know someone but he was well mannered in the way of all old heirs. He struggled in Gryffindor, which was a house full of people who had no clue about the many customs he had been raised on. He, like Hermione, found the way many people actively spurned ancient traditions to be grating. He hated that they celebrated Hallowe’en and Yule and Easter, that Beltane and Samhain were little more than vaguely familiar words to most people. Unlike most of her Slytherin peers, his grandmother had actually taught him about the rituals they had once used, many, many years before and he longed for a day when they could be performed once more. His attitude really was refreshingly European.

He’d been awkward with Theo at first, and Theo had been awkward in return. Both boys seemed to be skirting around some elephant that Hermione couldn’t see. Then she was held behind after a transfiguration lesson - she’d refused to transfigure a porcupine into a pincushion on ethical grounds. She’d read enough of Gellert’s ethics notes, and contributed to enough discussions to know that there were some serious issues to be considered, and the casual attitude towards train-sentience transfiguration at Hogwarts frankly appalled her. There were just so many unknown factors involved - did the animal remain sentient during the period of transfiguration? Was the process painful? And that was all before one had even considered the consequences of a failed transfiguration - animals stuck half way in between, or with certain body parts transfigured and others not. McGonagall had clearly never even considered her points, and with a strange look in her eye, she assigned Hermione to write a paper on ethical considerations of trans-sentience transfiguration instead of performing the class work.

However, when she’d caught up with the boys, they seemed to have had some kind of deep and meaningful discussion and had buried whatever hatchet had been between them. Neville looked like he was about to cry, but he was laughing at Theo as he recounted the story of the rebellions of Ulric the Oddball, trying to tell it from the point of view of the goblins. It was certainly memorable, even if it wasn’t conventional.

‘What did she say?’ Theo asked as soon as she sat down. ‘Do you still have to do it?’

‘I have to write an essay. She’d never even considered it before.’

‘I don’t think many people have.’ Neville pointed out sombrely. He had been horrified when Hermione had first mentioned the issues.

‘Its ridiculous, they call rituals dark magic because they require the quick, relatively painless death of an animal but they condone repeated animal torture by school children.’ She scoffed. Theo, who had listened to her rant for several hours on the matter after McGonagall had first announced that they would be moving onto porcupine to pincushions, sighed in resignation.

Hermione sneered at him, but didn’t continue her rant. Both of her friends agreed with her anyway.

‘Have you done your potions?’ Neville asked after several minutes of silence.

‘Theo has.’ Hermione looked towards the Slytherin boy expectantly and he nodded, reaching down to pull out his thick wad of notes.

‘I found some good stuff on Dittany, I copied it out of the book. I’d love to know if greenhouses affect the potency of the moon phase though but I couldn’t find it anywhere.’ Theo shuffled the papers and spread them out for his friends.

‘It probably does.’ Neville agreed, the resident expert on Herbology. ‘Did you check Herbological Healing? It usually has pretty extensive information on moon phases.’

Hermione scanned through Theo’s potions research and passed him her notes on the knock back jinx in return.

‘This bloke really believes the knockback jinx shares a magical root with the blasting curse?’ Theo asked after a moment.

‘He does, but in Lines of Power, Webber actually sketches the magical currents for both and he proved that the knockback jinx is the antipode of the summoning charm.’

‘You realise that kind of stuff is like, fifth year?’ Neville checked, looking slightly intimidated. Hermione and Theo turned to look at him with identical raised eyebrows. Neville shook his head and returned to reading Theo’s potions notes, annotating them with his own deep knowledge of Herbology and adding reading recommendations.

‘I think Harry wants you.’ Theo pointed out dryly, tipping his head towards where Harry was indeed waving frantically. Hermione sighed heavily because Ron Weasley was hovering behind him, which meant she would inevitably have to deal with him too but she stood and made her way over to them.

‘It’s Voldemort!’ Harry hissed as soon as she was within hearing distance. ‘It’s Voldemort who’s after the stone.’

‘Pardon?’ Hermione choked, taking a moment to shift gears and put some context around what they were saying.

‘Voldemort’s been living in the forest, I saw him whilst we were in detention. He’s been living off unicorn blood...’

‘Unicorn blood?’ Hermione hissed in outrage. There were very tame unicorns on the Lintzen estate and they all loved Hermione. She didn’t go to see them often because they hated Gellert with all the passion they loved her (she tried not to think about why that was), but she couldn’t imagine willingly harming one of the magnificent beasts.

‘Yeah, apparently he’s cursed, but Firenze - a centaur - thinks he’s only using it to stay alive until he’s got the stone.’

‘So You-Know-Who’s making Snape get it, and he’s finally intimidated Quirrel into letting him know how to get past his trap.’ Ron continued, whispering so loudly that Hermione had to cast a quick privacy charm.

‘All that’s left now if Fluffy - that’s the dog, remember? - and then Voldemort will be back to finish me off...’

‘Harry?’ Hermione interrupted quickly, stalling the boy. ‘Dumbledore is here. If Professor Snape really is going to try something, it won’t be right under the nose of the only person Voldemort has ever feared.’

‘Oh.’ Harry relaxed slightly. ‘You’re right. That’s great... but still.’

‘We’ll work on shield charms, and keep an eye on Snape. If anything suspicious happens, you go straight to McGonagall.’ Hermione instructed sternly.

‘Hagrid won’t give up his secret to anybody.’ Ron declared, obviously feeling more positive with the reminder of Dumbledore. Hermione doubted that, Hagrid, whilst loyal to Dumbledore was not the brightest and he was far, far too trusting. It was probably only a matter of time until that obstacle was surpassed, if it hadn’t been already.

A large part of her wanted to reassure Harry that the teachers probably already knew what was going on but her experiences with the Durmstrang faculty had already proven that school staff couldn’t be relied on for anything outside their job description.

‘I’ll cast some monitoring charms over the door to the corridor too.’ She finally decided. ‘That way, we’ll know if someone tries to get in.’

There were certain to be some good options in one of the family grimmoires, particularly because she’d have to make them difficult to detect. Most adult wizards probably knew how to check for enchantments, and she was willing to bet Dumbledore would misinterpret her work as an attempt to steal the stone herself. Perhaps she should write to Flamel with her concerns; she’d only have to use her name to get his attention?

Yes, she’d do that. She’d write to Flamel and offer her own services as a high priestess to help with the protections. There were ancient, forgotten wards and powerful enchantments that bordered on dark magic contained in her family texts. She didn’t doubt that she could hide the stone where Voldemort would never find it.


	83. Arguments

They were back to that strange, uneasy feeling in the dorms again. It had eased over the year as students found themselves buried beneath mountains of school work but now, with the split of the coven so fresh and public, people had suddenly remembered that the conflict had never actually been resolved and the revolutionaries smelled blood.

The school was full of idiots who didn’t understand the war, the coven or the treaty. Hot headed third years who would rise to taunts by the other side and come to blows, fifth years with something to prove and first years who just repeated what their parents had been saying at home. It was all Gellert and Berg could do, as the senior coven children in the school, to break up fights and arguments before they could escalate - fights always led to more fights.

His only allies were, ironically, the seventh year revolutionaries who were as keen to keep the peace as he was. They would wade into the fight in silent agreement, haul their relevant parties away and remind them exactly what was at stake. Occasionally he would share a frustrated look with the other side, and once they even had to work together to break up a duel. It was exhausting.

Of course, when he wasn’t occupied with preventing open war, he was trying to study for his upcoming exams. He’d been excused from exams last year but his mother had already made it very clear that he was expected to prove his place as a Grindelwald this year by placing at the top of the class.

‘There’s still eight of the coven left.’ A second year growled loudly from the next aisle in the library. Gellert dropped his head into his arms in resignation. Hermione had created a study timetable for him, but he was pretty sure she had some kind of creature blood. No mortal could stick to the strict regimen and despite staring at the page for over an hour, he still couldn’t remember the seven non-metal channels for his ritual exam. Hermione always seemed to just know this kind of stuff, and she could probably even tell him the different properties of each one. He could only remember that salt was best for spirit rituals because it was purifying and defended against evil spirits.

‘For now, but it won’t be long before the next person realises we don’t have to grovel before some fool in a castle just to have a good year.’ Gellert recognised that voice; a third year that was always causing trouble. He banged his head into the heavy rituals book in front of him, hoping that someone else would break the two up before he had to.

‘The Grindelwald family have offered protection for years, until your rebellion sabotaged them.’ The second year spat.

Bone, blood, sulphur, salt... he tried to drain out the noise of what he knew would be an escalating argument. Perhaps he could just sneak out and not have to have anything to do with it?

No, his duty was to the coven and to his people. Letting these petty arguments escalate was dangerous to their precarious peace, he couldn’t let the other side have any excuse to break the treaty.

He got up, shoving his books into his bag and stalking out of his aisle, turning into the next a moment later.

It looked like the third year had been working at the table at the end of this aisle and the second year had come in to find a book. The second year had retrieved the book - it was tucked under one arm whilst his wand was clenched in the other. Gellert really, really hoped he had just been summoning the book and he wasn’t actually planning to duel in the library.

‘Hello.’ He called, interrupting the brewing argument. ‘May I speak with you for a moment?’ He asked the second year, completely ignoring the third year that was glaring dirtily at him.

‘Grindelwald?’ The second year asked, shocked. ‘Certainly.’ He glanced quickly back at the third year, then looked Gellert into an empty aisle. Gellert turned back to look at him, taking in the worn, second hand robes and his bursting book bag.

‘I know that you have heard this before, and believe me, it is difficult to listen to their slander, but we must not fight with them.’ He began, repeating words he’s already said four times today. ‘They are searching for any reason to break the treaty, and we must not give it to them.’

‘So we just let them insult us?’ The second year demanded angrily and Gellert sighed heavily.

‘We must.’

‘I didn’t take you for a coward, Grindelwald.’ The second year spat and Gellert bristled. He wanted to study, he wanted to pass his exams, he did not want to be nannying people older than him whom had yet to learn to control their tempers.

‘I am not.’ He gritted. ‘It takes more courage to ignore their insults than to rise to them. I fought, bitter, bloody battles where friends and family died. There is no glory, no honour to be earned by fighting, only death on both sides. We do not need to fight to show that we’re better, we already know that we are better.’

‘So we let them trample over us?’ The boy demanded.

‘Insults are not justification for violence under the terms of the treaty. Live and let live.’ Gellert made sure that his tone did not allow for any more arguments and the second year took the hint. He was unhappy about it, Gellert could read that in his posture and expression, but he would follow the rules.

He didn’t linger any longer than necessary, resolving to go to the dorms where he could at least quell most arguments with just a warning look.

Berg was already there, surrounded by mountains of notes and several large books. He had a long smear of ink down his left cheek and a splatter of ink over his white, casual shirt.

‘More fights?’ Berg asked, taking in Gellert’s expression.

‘Yes.’ He sighed, pulling his books out and spreading them across his bed. ‘And I still can’t remember the non-metal channels.’

‘Blood, Bone, Salt, Sulphur, Soot, Soil and Chalk.’ Berg reeled off easily. Gellert huffed in frustration.

‘I always forget soot and soil. We never use those.’

‘That’s because soot is usually used for combat rituals, and nobody uses them anymore and soil is a slow acting regent. We cover them next year.’

Gellert glowered at him.

‘Between you and Hermione...’ Gellert trailed off threateningly and Berg laughed.

‘You’ll do better on the practicals.’ Berg assured him. ‘Especially now that you’ve got your wand back.’

Gellert glanced down at his wand. It had been exactly where Professor Ezra had seen it would be, nestled among a collection of pearly mermaid scales on top of a large shell. Mermaid scales were a rare, expensive potion ingredient because the ingredient gatherers were not patient enough to wait for them to be shed. He wasn’t planning to use them for potions though - he was planning to give them to the Gorlois family to use in the battle dress that he knew they’d eventually make for Hermione. Mer scales were the thinnest, lightest substance that could deflect a killing curse and he would willingly give up a fortune to see her safe.


	84. Dungeons

It felt like someone was driving a spike through her head with a hammer, splitting her skull open and knocking against the inside. Lights seemed to flash in front of her eyes, pulsing against the darkened canopy of her bed. It wasn’t legilimency and she fumbled for her crown on her nightstand, overextending slightly and falling out of bed with a crash. Her hangings tore loudly enough to wake the other girls and suddenly their confused voices were clashing with the cacophony already in her head. She struggled free, clinging to her crown and jammed it onto her head as she hauled herself up using the handles on her dresser.

The pain didn’t fade, so she hadn’t been cursed... but if it wasn’t a curse... the third floor corridor; it must be the ward she placed over the door. Someone was trying to steal the stone.

The other girls were up, clustering around her and offering her support, but Hermione knew that the only way to stop the awful ringing was to get to the door itself. Oh, the ward was awful, she was going to kill Finnain for even suggesting it.

‘Do you need Madam Pomfrey?’ Pansy’s hands kept reaching out and touching her.

‘Where does it hurt? My mother is a healer?’ Daphne put her face right in Hermione’s, obstructing her as she stumbled across the room to her dressing gown.

‘I’m fine.’ Hermione insisted, but she couldn’t quite tell if she was shouting, or whispering over the noise in her own head. ‘Go back to sleep.’

Her magic obeyed her command accidentally, wrapping around each girl and severing their consciousness with brutal force. Hermione swore as they collapsed, snoring, where they’d stood. She hadn’t meant to do that.

She didn’t have time to fix it though, if Voldemort was trying to steal the stone. She dug her sword out of her trunk, belting it over her dressing gown with one hand whilst she used her other to prop herself up against a bedpost. She almost tripped over Millie’s unconscious body on her way over to the door but managed to stay upright.

She ran all the way to the third floor, stumbling and tripping over every step and clinging to the wall. It was a miracle that she made it to the corridor at all without being caught; her sword kept banging against the wall and she must have been incredibly noisy.

Silence fell as she finally pressed her hand against the doorframe, the effect of the spell cancelled now that she had arrived. She breathed in relief, even though the door was ajar and music trilled from within.

She straightened her dressing gown and checked her sword, pulling and inch or so out of the sheath before sliding it back in to make sure it was loose. She drew her wand, clutching it in her left hand and took a deep, steadying breath. Voldemort was a wraith; Harry had seen that he was in the forbidden forest. Hermione had duelled worse than a wraith, even if it was the wraith of one of the most powerful dark wizards ever.

She squeezed through the open door, emerging into the silvery moonlight that spilled through the tall windows. A massive Cerberus snored loudly, three drooling heads lolled sideways over paws splayed apart to allow access to an open trap door. A harp played itself near the doorway and Hermione quickly renewed the enchantment; she was willing to bet the cerberus wouldn’t be anywhere near as dozy if the music wasn’t playing.

The young matriarch tiptoed to the trap door and peered down. It went very, very deep and got dark very, very quickly. She made a tossing motion with her right hand, casting the most powerful witchlight that she could. Like a flare, the light illuminated smooth, stone walls as it fell until it was little more than a twinkling star a long, long way down. She couldn’t actually make out any details from this distance, but she knew a charm which would stop her before she hit the bottom.

With one last deep breath, she stepped forwards and dropped.

Air ripped past her, flipping her nightdress up around her waist and tearing at her dressing gown. The words of the spell were pulled from her mouth but she couldn’t hear them over the wind in her ears.

The witchlight grew larger and brighter at an alarming rate, faster than any of Katana’s dives. The spell began to work, thickening the air, slowing her fall. She managed to gasp a lungful of air, then before she’d even realised what had happened, her feet touched gently against a stone floor. She dimmed her witchlight with a wave of her wand and used her other hand to settle her dress back down.

‘Hermione?’ A voice asked from behind her and she whipped around, sword levelled and shield charm cast before she could even register that it really was Harry standing behind her. Neville stood just behind him and Ron was coughing and gasping for air, propped up against the wall.

‘What are you lot doing here?’ She demanded, double checking their surroundings in case ny other Gryffindors were hiding in the shadows. There wasn’t much, just a circular room with a corridor leading off into the darkness. A flowerpot sat innocuously in the centre, full of potion-pungent earth.

‘Snape’s getting the stone for Voldemort tonight. Dumbledore left the school and Hagrid told Snape how to get past the dog.’ Harry replied urgently.

‘How did you know?’ Ron demanded.

‘I cast a ward on the door. I said I would. It must have triggered when he came through.’ Hermione dismissed his question easily.

‘Good.’ Neville ‘I couldn’t reach my wand to get rid of that Devil’s snare and Ron wouldn’t stop fighting it.’

Neville glared at the red-head and Harry shuffled awkwardly.

‘He wasn’t the only one, Neville. I wasn’t particularly happy with the plant trying to strangle me either.’

‘At least it was here to catch us though. That was a wicked spell, Hermione.’

She nodded to Ron, then peered down the passage way. With a wave of her wand, her witchlight drifted a short way down, stopping at a solid wooden door.

‘Let’s go. We can’t let Voldemort get too far ahead.’ Neville insisted. Harry nodded and led the way towards the door.

‘Stop!’ Ron hissed suddenly, just before Harry touched the iron ring. ‘Can you hear that?’

Hermione listened. There was a faint rustling and clinking noise, it sounded like a rustling dress - a lady dancing without music. Maybe she wore jewellery.

‘You don’t think they’ve got dragons, do you?’ Harry asked nervously and Hermione jolted in surprise.

‘Dragons?’ She asked incredulously. It didn’t sound anything like a dragon, dragons were large and lumbering and the chains needed to restrain it would be much louder.

‘They have dragons for security at Gringotts.’ Harry defended, his cheeks darkening.

‘I think it sounds like bees.’ Neville said quietly and three pairs of sceptical eyes turned on him. ‘Metal bees.’

Shaking her head, Hermione raised her wand in one hand and drew her sword with the other. Metal and bone gleamed poisonously as she readied herself, then nodded to Harry. The boy threw the door open and she stepped forwards.

It was bright, very bright after the darkness of the corridor. The room was large and very tall, empty except for what looked like a massive flock of... metallic birds. Neville had almost been right. The birds didn’t seem at all concerned by them, continuing to swarm the chandeliers with their brightly coloured wings.

‘Take off your shoe.’ Hermione commanded and Harry looked at her in outrage. Hermione raised an eyebrow imperiously. ‘You’ve got fluffy socks on. Take off your shoe.’

Resigned, Harry pulled off his shoe and passed it to Hermione. She picked it up gingerly, holding her breath as she tossed it unceremoniously out into the middle of the room. They waited in tense silence, but nothing happened. Hermione summoned it back, then turned it into a skunk with a twirl of her wand.

‘I thought you didn’t do trans-sentience transfiguration?’ Neville questioned as she shooed the animal in the right direction.

‘It started as non-sentient. It’s not actually a living thing, just a magical construct of life.’ Hermione said primly. ‘Therefore there are not the same ethical issues... and it’s not like I’m going to let it breed with a real skunk.’

‘A skunk? Really?’ Harry demanded.

‘Well, it wasn’t much of a change.’ Ron snorted.

‘Looks like they’re not going to do anything.’ Hermione concluded once her skunk had done several laps of the room. She flicked her wand again, turning Harry’s shoe back to normal. Harry summoned it back to himself and put it back on, still looking disgruntled.

The group crossed the room cautiously, wands ready.

Nothing happened.

They reached the door and Hermione nervously reached for it with her magic to check for wards. It was heavily enchanted, throbbing with the lingering power of a host of unfamiliar spells. With no other option, she gingerly placed her hand against the wood. Nothing happened.

Her hand drifted towards the handle - old and silver, worn by age. She still wore her crown with it’s powerful protective spells, if anyone could touch a cursed door handle, it was her.

She turned the handle - nothing.

Ron jammed his shoulder into the door and brushed her hand off the handle, rattling the entire thing in it’s frame. Harry joined him, pushing and shoving and twisting the handle.

‘We need to get the key.’ Neville interrupted. Hermione glanced at him, then followed his eyes up to the flock of birds. Except, now that she looked closely, they weren’t birds, they were indeed flying keys.

‘There! Broomsticks!’ Ron called, pointing across the room to where five broomsticks rested on a rack. Neville swallowed nervously but managed to take off, hovering uncertainly.

‘I’ll stay below them, maybe stop them from going down.’ The pureblood decided, voice trembling. Hermione glided serenely past him, trying to force the uncomfortable school broom to bank properly.

‘Good idea - Hermione, you take the top, see if you can keep them away from the ceiling; keep an eye out for the right one. Harry and I will stir them up a bit.’

Hermione drifted up through the cloud of keys which scattered away from her. They were lucky that Harry was such a good flier otherwise this would be almost impossible.

She spiralled above the birds, keeping her eyes peeled as Ron and Harry darted through the flock, agitating them into a boiling sea. Harry was the first to spot it, pointing out a large key with a crumpled wing. She flew over to it, forcing it downwards as Neville moved up like a pincer. It tried to dart sideways along the wall, Ron blocked it with a sharp swerve. The key turned tail and sped in the opposite direction. Harry’s hand snapped out and grabbed it as it skittered past him, barely half a meter from his broom. He whooped and they all dove back to the floor, casting the brooms aside carelessly as Harry jammed the struggling key into the lock.

The door swung open with an ominous click and the key tore free, flying erratically now that it had been caught twice.

Hermione cast a new witchlight and once more led the way with her sword raised. Fire flared in a dozen torches along the walls of the new, massive chamber.

‘Chess.’ Hermione said dryly. ‘We have to play Chess.’

‘I’m the queen.’ Hermione declared, striding across the room and knocking sharply at the black queen’s skirt with her sword. The massive stone piece nodded gratingly and clanked away to the sidelines. Hermione took it’s place.

‘Right... Neville, you take that castle, Harry, you take the bishop.’ Ron decided. ‘I’ll be a knight.’

The boys moved to their assigned pieces and Hermione had to admit that she was probably not the one to be taking the lead in this task. Whilst she enjoyed the game, she had a record of being soundly beaten and if the Grindelwalds had settled for any less expensive pieces, they probably would have mutinied months ago.

Once they were all in position, the white pieces took their first move. A pawn rolled forwards two spaces.

There was very little conversation, Neville was rather good at chess but he was definitely not as good as Ron. Hermione was reluctant to admit that the red-head was probably as good as Gellert and her brother was a truly remarkable player. Ron directed their black pieces effortlessly, Neville muttering agreements with each move and once or twice pointing out that one of them was in danger.

There was a little more debate when they realised Ron would have to sacrifice their other knight, but eventually it was decided that it was the best move. They all watched with bated breath as the black figure clopped forwards. The white queen raised her massive sword and brought it scything down. It crashed through the knight, shattering him into pieces before she dragged the debris off the board.

‘Merlin. We do not want to lose.’ Neville muttered. They’d all gone very pale.

‘Right.’ Ron said, looking very shaken. ‘Hermione, you can take that bishop now.’

The bishop turned to her and she hefted her own sword. She was careful to only step on the squares that she was allowed in as she crossed to the white piece. Then, she slashed her sword diagonally. It cut through the stone like a hot knife through butter and the two heavy marble blocks toppled over with a crash. She cleared the board with a wave of her hand and took the now empty spot.

The game progressed slowly, as all chess games do. Hermione took several pieces and even Neville punched a pawn in the face at one point. Casualties mounted on both sides, limp and shattered pieces lining up against the walls.

‘We’re nearly there.’ Ron murmured, surveying the rather empty board. ‘Yes... its the only way.’

‘No, don’t do it!’ Neville squeaked.

‘I have to. It leaves Harry free to checkmate their king next turn.’

‘Ron...’ Harry trailed off warningly. Now that it had been pointed out to her, Hermione could also see what Ron was planning to do. It left a cold, sick feeling in her guts.

‘Look, do you want to stop Snape or not?’

‘Ron...’ Neville said, pained.

‘If we don’t do it, Voldemort will probably kill me anyway. My family fought against him last time.’ Ron took a heavy breath, then before anyone could say anything more, he took three steps. The white queen pounced. She struck hard with her stone sword which crunched into Ron’s arm and ribs and tossed him sideways like a doll. She picked up his limp form by the obviously broken arm and dragged him off the board.

Hermione fidgeted in her spot.

Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to his left. The white king pulled off his crown and chucked it at Harry’s feet and the other pieces parted, bowing deeply to them. They looked desperately back at Ron, but didn’t dare walk anywhere but the path made by the pieces.

‘He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay.’ Neville muttered under his breath like a mantra.

‘What’s next?’ Harry breathed as they reached another door.

‘We’ve had Sprout, McGonagall and Flitwick. So Snape and Quirrel.’ Neville said after a moment’s pause.

‘This isn’t right.’ Hermione said after a moment. ‘It’s too easy.’

‘What do you mean?’ Harry asked incredulously.

‘There’s powerful ward, impregnable, hidden - the fidelius charm alone would make it almost impossible to find the stone. Why is it hidden somewhere that a group of first years have managed to pass?’ She pointed out. Two pairs of eyes widened.

‘Maybe Dumbledore thought it would be safe in the school?’

‘Why did Dumbledore bring something so dangerous to a school in the first place - it’s brought Voldemort here.’ Hermione demanded.

‘Look,’ Harry snapped after a moment, ‘I don’t know why Dumbledore put the stone here, but I do know that we need to make sure Voldemort doesn’t get it. We can get angry later.’

‘Harry’s right.’ Neville agreed, but he looked concerned. Hermione nodded and once more lifted her sword and led the way through a door.

‘Troll!’ Harry exclaimed as a foul smell thickened the air.

A huge troll was unconscious, sprawled across the floor in the middle of the room. Glad that the didn’t have to fight that one, they dashed across the room and through the next doorway to escape the spell.

This room was odd. It was very quiet and a table took up the middle of the room. Placed in a neat row were seven differently shaped and coloured bottles. As soon as they crossed the threshold, purple fire roared up behind them, filling the doorway. Black fire seared across the far doorway as well, trapping them in the room.

‘There’s instructions.’ Neville pointed to a sheet of parchment that had been stuck to the table and they hurried over to read it.

It was a little rhyme which essentially told them which bottles to drink. She read it several times, then quickly plucked two bottles from the lineup. One was very small, and definitely only half full and the other was much larger and slightly iridescent.

‘There’s only enough for one of us to go forwards.’ Harry pointed out nervously.

‘I’ve got my crown; it should have strong enough enchantments to get me through the fire.’ She touched the familiar metal on her brow.

‘What about me?’ Neville asked uncertainly.

‘You go back.’ Harry said decisively. ‘No, listen. Grab Ron and get some brooms from the key room. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore.’

‘He’s right, Neville.’ Hermione said quietly. ‘Snape is a powerful wizard - neither of us are really a match for him in a duel, especially not if Voldemort is in there too. We need Dumbledore.’

Neville nodded quickly and picked up the larger bottle. He took a large gulp, grimacing slightly as the mysterious potion took effect. Then he bowed deeply to Hermione and Harry.

‘High Priestess, Lord Potter. May magic flow in your favour. It was a pleasure fighting with you.’

Hermione curtsied deeply in reply and Harry hastily followed suit, seeming to understand that this was a custom that Neville found important.

‘And in yours, Heir Longbottom.’

Then Neville turned and strode through the fire. It roared slightly louder as he passed, but they heard him call that he was okay once he was through. Hermione turned to Harry and passed him the potion. He looked dubiously at her crown.

‘You sure that crown is strong enough?’

‘Yes.’ Hermione lied.

‘Right, lets go then.’ Harry turned to the fire and raised the potion to his lips. Hermione steeled herself and reached out her hand to take his. His fingers were clammy with nerves and she was sure hers were no better. She’d fought and duelled before, but never against such an accomplished adult wizard and never without another powerful adult at her back.

‘Three, two... one!’ Hermione counted them down, and on one they stepped into the flames.

It was unbearably hot, the crown on her brow seared with heat and magic flared blindingly bright around her. Harry’s hand, blessedly cool, pulled her forwards and out of the fire and the moment she was clear she tore the crown from her head, hurling it away.

The runic decorations glowed brightly, reflecting on the polished floor. She was unharmed, except for some slightly tender skin on her forehead but the damage had been done. As the light faded from the runes on her crown, so did the magic. Where it had previously hummed with protective energy, it was now just mundane metal circlet. She picked it up anyway, meeting Harry’s concerned eyes with a shrug.

‘It did what it was meant to.’

In reality, she was devastated but if one heirloom was the cost of stopping a dark wizard rising to power; it was a price she was willing to pay.

Harry nodded and they crept between a pair of pillars. They were in a large auditorium, circular flights of stairs leading down to a central arena. A massive, ornate mirror sat in the middle of the room and in front of it was a figure.

‘Quirrel?’ Harry gasped.

‘Potter. I wondered if I’d be seeing you here.’ The professor drawled and Hermione swallowed. His stutter was completely gone. ‘You’ve brought a friend... Miss Gorlois.’

‘I thought... Snape...’ Harry stuttered.

‘Oh, Severus.’ Quirrel crowed. ‘He does seem the type, doesn’t he? So helpful, swooping around like an overgrown bat and distracting the other staff from p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrel. But you, my dear...’ Quirrel glided up the staircase, his eyes fixed on Hermione. ‘You were a blessing. Albus Dumbledore was so focused on having a Grindelwald in the school; I could have cursed Potter right under his nose and he wouldn’t have noticed.’

‘Severus was the only one who suspected me, really. Kept trying to frighten me off... as if he could when I have the Dark Lord on my side. Now, quiet, both of you. I need to focus. This mirror is the key to finding the stone, I’m sure of it.’ Quirrel prowled around the mirror, brushing his fingers over the frame and even touching the glass as if longing for his own reflection. ‘Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he’s in London. I’ll have figured it out and be long gone by the time he gets back.’

‘It’s the mirror of Erised.’ Harry muttered to Hermione. ‘It shows what you most desire, not the truth.’ Harry muttered to Hermione. Unfortunately, some of his words must have carried because Quirrel whirled back to them.

‘What do you know, Potter?’ The older wizard demanded, stalking up the stairs towards them with his wand raised. ‘What did that old fool tell you?’

‘Don’t you touch him.’ Hermione cried, stepping in front of her friend.

‘Out of my way, girl!’ Quirrel snarled, slashing his wand. Hermione countered, lighting fast. Her shield flashed brightly and sent Quirrel’s curse skittering into the wall. Pleased by the surprise that coloured Quirrel’s features, she retaliated with a flurry of spells. His expression morphed from surprise to annoyance, then to fury as she forced him back down the staircase. She had the higher ground, she had the advantage.

Harry had taken shelter behind one of the pillars as their furious casting lit the room like a deadly firework display. It was wonderful, casting with her wand in her left hand and her sword in her right. Magic flowed easily and powerfully through both, almost without requiring guidance. Purple fire followed the arcs of her sword, crimson bolts shot from her wand and her shield shimmered silver.

Quirrel was very, very powerful. Hermione learned quickly not to let any of his spells impact on her shield. Without her battlerobes to fortify her protective casting, the impact left her magic feeling numb and sluggish, like it had taken a blow to the head. She took to ducking and weaving instead, deflecting if necessary. Quirrel quickly picked up on her tactic and started using large, area effect spells that she couldn’t dodge. He forced Hermione to jump sideways and off the stairs to stop a stray spell catching Harry, and she lost the advantage of the high ground. Now that they were on the flat, she had to work much harder. Quirrel could use his whole body to throw more power and speed behind his spells and Hermione was less able to dodge. They duelled their way around the floor, breathing heavily. Sweat flicked from her skin with every sharp movement and her stupid fluffy dressing gown was stiflingly hot. She’d lost her slippers early on and the sandy floor was sharp and uncomfortable against her feet.

She had made a stupid, stupid error. As they circled the mirror, she suddenly found that she was no longer between Quirrel and Harry. The professor pulled away suddenly, darting out of the way of her spells and back up the stairs.

‘Ah Ah. You wouldn’t want me to hurt him now, Miss Gorlois.’ Quirrel wheezed, wand pointed straight at Harry. Hermione snarled through her gasps for breath but let her sword tip drift down.

‘Don’t let him get the stone.’ Harry called. But Hermione couldn’t do anything, couldn’t cast any spells.

‘Drop your wand and sword.’ Quirrel ordered. Hermione obeyed, tossing down both weapons. The professor used his wand to force Harry to stand and prodded him down the staircase.

‘Now sit.’ Quirrel ordered, pushing Harry down on the bottom step. A sharp gesture of his wand had Hermione doing the same, and a moment later heavy chains wound themselves around their feet to hold them in place.

With order restored, Quirrel returned to the mirror. He picked up Hermione’s wand along the way, as well as her sword. She gritted her teeth.

‘Now, tell me, Potter.’ Quirrel purred darkly but the effect lost because he was still out of breath. ‘What do you know about the mirror?’

‘Nothing.’ Harry said quickly.

‘Liar!’ A new voice hissed. Hermione’s eyes darted around, trying to find the fourth person. It sounded like they were close to Quirrel. ‘Let me speak to him. Face to face.’

‘Master. You are not strong enough!’ Quirrel fretted, and a stone settled in Hermione’s stomach. Voldemort was here.

‘I am strong enough for this.’ The voice replied. To her horror, Quirrel reached up and began to unwrap his turban. Ribbons of purple cloth fell to the floor and in the darkness, they looked like bloody spills across the sand.

Slowly, Quirrel turned and Hermione squeaked in horror. Growing out of the back oh his head was a second face. It was chalk white with crimson eyes that seemed to glow and slit-like nostrils.

‘Harry Potter.’ The face whispered. Harry stiffened next to her. ‘Come here, Harry Potter.’

With no options, Harry stood. The chains holding him had melted into smoke. He shuffled over until he was just out of Quirrel’s reach.

‘Look in the mirror, Harry Potter. Tell me what you see.’ Voldemort hissed. Quirrel jabbed his wand in Harry’s direction threateningly. Harry glanced back at Hermione, his eyes meeting hers. She nodded in agreement. If Voldemort believed he needed the mirror to get the stone, they would make sure he couldn’t use it.

With a wordless cry she yanked the ruined crown from her head and hurled it at Voldemort’s face. It struck him dead on, sending Quirrel stumbling as both cried out in pain. Harry, no longer at wand point, spun. He snatched Hermione’s sword from Quirrel’s belt and sent it smashing into the mirror.

Glass flew everywhere; razor blades that sliced into their skin and drew steams of blood. The heavy frame teetered precariously, then toppled backwards.

‘Noo!’ Quirrel howled, falling desperately to his knees among the shards of mirror.

‘Fool!’ Voldemort cried at the same time. Jerkily, like the two inhabitants of his body were fighting for control, Quirrel lunged towards Harry. Still bound, Hermione did the only thing she could. She sent power searing out, pure, raw magical strength. It had no purpose other than to protect and separate. Quirrel collided with the almost physical barrier and screamed, an agonising, terrible sound. His body blurred, a shadow being forced out of him by Hermione’s magic. Voldemort fought; bitterly, powerfully.

He turned on Hermione, lashing out one last time.

Harry tackled him from behind.

Voldemort’s final, desperate spell hit her - as wordless and unformed as her own. Everything went dark.


	85. Visitor

Gellert Grindelwald looked sightlessly out over the familiar mountains, currently coloured with the vibrant greens and purples of summer. He didn’t see the physical world though, he was immersed in the magical world. For months he’d worked on skills long forgotten, nurturing, rebuilding and repairing the tentative bonds he’d shared as a child. Golden tendrils of magic, built by a promise and bound by shared conviction, worn and frayed by time, distance and war.

It was painful, hard to do after so much time. His magic had grown accustomed to violence and destruction and he had almost forgotten the subtleties of wielding it without his beloved elder wand. Oh, how his mother would roll in her grave at what he had become.

He cut that train of the thought brutally, self hatred would not assist him in his task.

Once more, he returned to the bonds. There were four - two that he could work with, spiderweb thin and almost gone. The third, that one was like smoke, still powerful and strong, but dormant. It had been like that for years. The fourth, the fourth he had no intention of repairing. He would leave the tattered remains of that bond forever as a reminder of his mistakes. It was the first two he worked on now, caressing them, repairing the damage he’d wrought.

Both bonds were firmly closed at the other end but he had the attention of at least one of them. Even now it moved, footsteps treading up forgotten staircases and robes dirtied on thick dust.

He could hear them now, stopping at the door and muttering the counter curses to the wards across the door. Those were not her wards, Hermione’s spellwork had never required something as crude as a spoken counter curse. Those wards had been cast by his nemesis - powerful yet poorly refined and crudely executed.

The door opened and two aurors marched in, dressed in the black and purple that denoted his own, personal guards. Didn’t that make him feel special?

He almost giggled.

‘Up.’ The one on the right ordered. Gellert would have argued but he didn’t want to risk this meeting. He needed this to happen.

He stood meekly and held out his wrists in offering. The auror was suspicious but clamped the silver cuffs around his wrists anyway, cinching them up painfully tight around his bony wrists. Another of Hermione’s ideas, corrupted by people who didn’t understand her work. They didn’t need to be big and heavy and the runework; oh, it was painful to look at.

He was shuffled out of his cell and down a corridor that had once been familiar to him. His castle had changed in the twenty years since his last visitor - moths had gotten into the carpet and the paintings had all been removed, leaving bare patches on the walls.

Two more aurors closed in behind him and more pairs of guards framed every doorway and window. As if he would try to escape out of a 13th story window with his magic bound and a very solid, very stone cliff at the bottom. Idiots.

It was rather flattering that they felt the need for such measures though. He had to restrain the urge to giggle again. That was Hermione’s influence, knowing that she was alive was spoiling his dark lord persona.

The meeting room had been kept in better condition than the rest of the castle, or perhaps it had been hastily cleaned in preparation for a visitor. The carpet certainly wasn’t something that he would have chosen; he really disliked purple.

But he wasn’t concerned with the carpet.

He was captured by the witch that stood at the window. She was as tall as he remembered, and just at statuesque. Her robes were crimson velvet, tied with a black belt and embroidered with flowers around the sleeves. Her hair was a smooth wave of silver, flowing over her shoulders and almost bushing her elbows.

‘Anneken.’ He breathed. He knew it was her; her magical signature was unmistakable, as familiar to him as his own even after so much time.

‘Grindelwald.’ She replied coldly, turning on one heel to look down on him. She had aged well, her skin smooth and glowing healthily despite being marred by the creases of time.

The auror guards forced him down into the heavy chair and fastened manacles around his ankles and wrists. He let them manhandle him, even when one caught the skin of his leg in the lock and drew blood, unable to tear his eyes away from her. At her sharp nod, the guards withdrew and left them alone.

Anneken did not sit.

‘You have my attention.’ She finally said, her voice still cold. He deserved that, he supposed. He had killed her son, the insolent brat.

‘Well, what do you want?’ She demanded again after a moment. ‘I have felt you, teasing at the bond the Hermione made between us.’

A year ago, that would have hurt him. He would have killed her for even daring to mention her name. Now though, now it only brought a smile to his face. Anneken was testing him, he knew.

‘Albus Dumbledore sent me a letter, months ago.’ His voice was still harsh with disuse but it was better than it had been before he’d started practicing with it again. ‘He asked me about a student that began her schooling this year; Hermione Granger.’

‘Hermione is dead.’ Anneken said harshly, but she had faltered slightly. She didn’t believe that Hermione was dead, perhaps she had never believed it... perhaps, Anneken had known.

‘No. Hermione is not dead. Hermione was only born eleven years ago.’ He insisted. ‘I think you knew that.’

Anneken finally sat, leaning back in the comfortable chair that they had provided for her and placing her bag onto the table between them.

‘I knew that she was from the future - attending Hogwarts by day and Germany by night. I did not know that she was from so far into the future.’ Anneken admitted. ‘I watched the students very carefully, waiting for her to arrive but she never came. I had begun to believe that by visiting the past, she had diverted the timeline so far that she was not born.’

‘What will happen, has happened and therefore must happen.’ He repeated the mantra that Hermione had so often told him, words that he realised now meant more to her than he could possibly have comprehended at the time. ‘She knew exactly what would become of us all.’

‘Yes, I believe so.’ Anneken pursed her lips.

‘I was always going to fail.’ He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

‘She did not say as much. In fact, I believe she only ever told your mother of the future. I am glad, I would not have wanted to be burdened by the knowledge of what would happen.’

‘You are right, of course.’ He looked down at his hands; the leeching dark magic, his twisted and shattered soul. He didn’t understand how she had treated him so well, despite knowing what he would become. How could she have loved a monster?

‘So, did you just wish to talk, or was there something else?’ Anneken demanded after a moment of silence.

‘Yes, Hermione needs support; the support of the family.’ He flexed his finger where his seal had once sat. The manacles clanked heavily against his chair with the movement.

‘You want me to assume the mantle of your family? Your tainted name?’ Anneken demanded. She wouldn’t refuse, he knew she wouldn’t. Anneken was of Hermione’s court, perhaps the only one of them that had held true to Hermione’s ideals through the passage of time. She would do whatever was needed to assist the young witch.

‘I want you to become Locum matriarch, to stand for her against Dumbledore. She carries my name, and Albus will hate her for it. She needs someone influential, with authority, to protect her from him.’ He leaned forwards as much as the chains would let him, earnest. He knew that Anneken would agree with him, but at the same time he was terrified that she wouldn’t.

‘Very well.’ Anneken agreed heavily.

‘Albus has my seal, but the heir’s ring is in the vaults of Gorlois. Hermione will be able to take you there. With that, you will have the authority to challenge Albus for the head’s ring. Give Hermione the heir ring; it will give her authority even among those who do not believe in her Gorlois heritage.’

‘Do you still have vaults, or did you drain your coffers to fund your war?’ She demanded. Gellert ignored the jab.

‘There will be vaults in Germany, which I have not touched. They contain the entirety of the Grindelwald fortune - unless Albus has been into them. Hermione had two vaults, 407 and 409, one of which is a trust of the family vault and the other contains her earnings from her patents.’

He honestly hadn’t even touched the Grindelwald vaults; his family had been collecting coven tax for as long as anyone could remember. His trust vault - that had taken a heavy hit, but his family vaults would need more than a war to drain them. Even for an old, wealthy family like the Lintzens, the Grindelwalds were rich. Not only had they managed their wealth with investments, they had also received a tithe from the magical people of Germany up until his grandfather had abolished it.

‘I can pursue Albus for damages if he has been into the vaults. He may have defeated you, but he has no legal right to your family fortune.’

‘The magic.’ Gellert hesitated slightly, glancing down at the cuffs on his hands. Anneken bit her red-painted lip.

‘If you try anything, I will burn you alive.’ She threatened. Then she stood, her skirts swishing against the floor as she rounded the table. She tapped one long, elegant nail against the silver, magic suppressing cuffs and they sprang open. The resultant rush of returning magic was powerful and heady, like a first breath of air after being submerged for too long.

The more mundane restraints were next and a moment later he was unbound. He rubbed his wrists, then bent down to do the same to his ankles. Both joints were thick with scar tissue, but he could still find the scars from his very first imprisonment, when Livius Lucan had broken his legs to keep him still.

He stood up and held one arm out to Anneken. She grasped it firmly, wrapping her smooth fingers around his wrist. His skin was grubby against hers and he realised that he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d cleaned out under his nails.

‘Lord Gellert, Patriarch of House Grindelwald. I am Anneken, a witch born of House Lintzen and married into House Krum. Should you take me in, I swear to be an asset to House Grindelwald, to adhere to your values and to bring glory to the name.’ He was impressed that Anneken actually knew the words to the ritual, but perhaps her family had used the same one.

‘The house will have you, bring us strength.’ He said, feeling the family magic uncoiling within him. It was interested, after so long being dormant.

Anneken rummaged with her free hand in her purse, eventually pulling out the athame that had been gifted to her by Krum as her courting knife. He used one toe to flip the edge of the carpet over so that their blood would be hidden beneath it when they were finished. She passed the blade to Gellert who pulled his hand out of hers and sliced across his palm. He passed the knife back to Anneken and she did the same. They joined hands again, allowing their blood to mingle as it dripped towards the stone floor.

‘As our blood mixes here, let it flow in you. Become my sister in name and magic.’ He spoke the next line slowly but Anneken did not object.

‘Esto Perpetua.’ She murmured with him.

Anneken pulled a small vial from her bag, tipped out the contents and caught some of their mingled blood inside it. Gellert released her hand and, because he was proud that he could perform this charm again wandlessly; he brushed his finger over the cuts on both of their hands, healing them.

They took their seats again and he was relieved when Anneken left him unbound. It made the hour it took him to summarise the family affairs much more comfortable.


	86. Stone

She woke up in the brightly lit hospital wing and was instantly aware of the person seated to her right. Their magic was unusual - like a blue church steeple that had been propped up by crimson scaffolding. She tried to sit up but a hand held her down, pushing her firmly back into the pillows.

‘You’ve been severely injured. It would be best if you remained reclined for now.’ The voice instructed and she recognised it immediately.

‘Flamel?’ She asked. Her voice was rough, like she’d escaped from a burning building. Come to think of it her entire body felt tender and raw.

‘Yes. I received your letter - and apparently just in time too; if I hadn’t arrived when I did, we wouldn’t have been able to save you.’

‘Save me?’ She questioned.

‘Surely you remember? The stone is the cure for all ills?’ Flamel huffed, sounding slightly offended. Hermione did remember that but she had been certain Voldemort’s curse would kill her. She said as much and Flamel hummed in consideration.

‘Interaction between spells has always been more your field of interest than my own, but I believe the enchantments that Mrs. Potter left on young Mr. Potter accelerated the exorcism you performed on Quirrel. As such, Voldemort’s curse was only half-formed.’

‘Exorcism?’ Hermione asked, then winced at how stupid she’d sounded. To her surprise, Flamel seemed to find it hilarious.

‘Only a Grindelwald could accidentally exorcise a dark wizard. Somehow, the entire wizarding world knows that you and Potter exorcised Lord Voldemort. Professor Quirrel is recovering in St. Mungos, after which he will stand trial and be taken taken to Azkaban. It seems the population has seen fit to reward you with chocolate.’ Flamel gestured around them to what Hermione assumed what a pile of chocolate; without turning, she wouldn’t be able to see.

‘And the stone?’ Hermione asked. She was very aware that they had yet to actually kill Voldemort. He would be back, and the stone would still be his prime target.

‘Destroyed. If Albus Dumbledore could not keep it out of the wrong hands, the only option is to destroy it.’

‘But you’ll die!’ Hermione gasped, sitting up despite Flamel’s protests.

‘Death is but the next great adventure. As a young witch so aptly pointed out; eternal life is not the same as eternal youth.’ He winked at her meaningfully and Hermione pursed her lips.

‘Did I say that?’ She asked after a moment.

‘Ah, perhaps you haven’t said it yet.’ Flamel amended quickly. ‘How fascinating. What I mean is that whilst I have yet to succumb to old age, I am not immune to it. Perenell and I are old and tired and we look forwards to a good, long rest.’

Flamel paused, snagging a cauldron cake off a mountain of sweets and holding it out to her. She sook her head and he unwrapped it, crumbs falling onto his grubby work robes.

‘My only regret is that the stone really must be destroyed - it is an alchemical marvel, a true tool of good in the right hands.’

‘I see you’ve already ruined you appetite?’ Another voice said archly and Hermione glanced over to see Perenell peering through the curtains. She was burdened with a tray which bore three steaming bowls of soup and a loaf of crusty french bread. The elderly witch tapped the tray with her wand and it hovered just above Hermione’s lap. She passed a bowl to her husband as well, then conjured herself a stool and took her own bowl. ‘It’s very good to see you again, Hermione dearest.’

‘As I was saying...’ Nicholas pulled his bushy eyebrows together as he tore up his bread and dunked it into his soup. ‘We have enough elixir remaining to get our affairs in order, then we shall be embarking on our next adventure.’

‘Fortunately, Nicholas believes our affairs are rather simple.’ Perenell said breezily. ‘You see, after many, many years, we have finally met someone who has no interest in using the stone for selfish gain.’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’ Hermione said slowly, even though she had a niggling suspicion.

‘The stone will be destroyed, dearest.’ Perenell answered, ‘but a certain young witch will inherit all of Nick’s work and materials, including a rather ugly ruby necklace.’

And Nicholas pulled out a large stone, slightly smaller than her fist, which had been strung onto a leather thong. She knew immediately what it was, the powerful magical signature was the glowing embodiment of purity and light.

‘You won’t be able to use it until Voldemort is defeated, but I suspect your Sect has many hiding places for similar treasures.’

‘I thought you knew that I didn’t want to use it?’ Hermione asked. She could barely tear her eyes away from the stone - it was beautiful, not just in appearance but in magic as well and it called to her like her crown once had.

‘I will let you in on a secret, Hermione.’ Flamel leaned in and his wife followed. ‘I did not make this stone, I found it. I was sick, dying of the plague and I fled home so that Perenell wouldn’t get sick too. I took my staff, but little else.’

‘It was a trophy, from one of our ancestors many, many centuries ago. A shard of some enemy dark witch’s staff. Even that fragment was a powerful magical artefact.’ Perenell continued the story.

‘I put all of my magic into one last apparition, and the staff took me to where the rest of it’s shards still lay. I appeared in a throne room, certainly of fey origin - no wixen could build something like that. The walls were smooth, like they had grown from the rock and the floor was a single piece of dark blue stone that glittered like the night sky. There was a glowing throne on the dais, and at the foot of the throne, I found the rest of the staff.’ Nicholas Flamel’s eyes misted in remembrance of the place. ‘This stone was fixed into it, and it called to me even more than the throne. I crawled across the floor, and touched it. My sickness was healed in a wash of light, and I felt healthier than ever before.’

‘Then,’ Perenell had finished her soup and she plopped the bowl back onto the tray with a clack that betrayed her derision, ‘the fool removed the stone from the staff and apparated away, without even trying to find out where he was. We found out what the stone did soon enough and after much study, we managed to deduce much of how it worked.’

‘I remember very little of the place where I found it; I was delirious from lack of water and food, but I recognised this...’ Flamel reached out and picked up her hand, tilting it this way and that so that the light glinted off her seal. ‘On that rather wonderful dress you wore during Yule.’

Perenell slapped his hands off hers, apologising for his inappropriate behaviour. Hermione had already gathered that manners were hardly Nicholas’ strong suit, so quickly forgave him for examining her seal so closely.

‘The throne was decorated with these - I thought it odd for years afterwards that someone would create such an accurate carving, but misrepresent a wolf.’

‘Avalon.’ Hermione breathed. ‘You went to Avalon. Morgana was a famous healer - because she had the philosopher’s stone!’

‘And now, I have returned it to the line of Gorlois.’ Nicholas Flamel finished. A smile traced his lips. ‘So, as far as the world is concerned, the philosopher’s stone has been destroyed. You have inherited my work and a part of the broken Gorlois staff - nothing of much interest to a dark lord seeking immortality. Perenell and I shall donate our entire fortune to Beauxbatons, and embark on the next great adventure.’

The famous philosopher reached out and took his wife’s hand, wrapping their fingers together.

‘Thank you.’ Hermione finally said after a moment of shocked silence. There was something incredibly sad about watching the two ancient wixen and knowing that very soon they would be dead.

‘You are truly great witch, Hermione.’ Perenell reached out and clasped the young witch’s hands. They sat for a moment, Hermione clinging onto the stone and Perenell’s hands encasing hers. Then, with a sigh the two Flamels stood and straightened their clothing. Perenell took the tray off Hermione’s lap and Nicholas stole one last cauldron cake.

Perenell swept the curtains open around her bed and they both left, looking dignified and incomprehensibly brave.

‘Ah yes, Hermione darling?’ Perenell hesitated at the doorway. ‘Please do come to the funeral.’

Hermione swallowed back tears, nodding as the Flamels left the hospital wing. She didn’t know them well, but she knew that she would get to know them and it would be all the more bitter-sweet because she’d been to their funeral already.


	87. Hexemeer

The end of the school year was a relief; he passed his exams with flying colours. Berg also did well, receiving a special commendation on his Foreign Magic exam but faltering a little on his rituals practical when he panicked and mixed up the symbols for air and fire.

His mother was pleased with his results, and apparently Hermione had decimated her classmates in her exams as well. There had been no fights, no treaty violations and best of all, no premonitions of disaster over summer.

He couldn’t help but be excited as he saddled Kelpie and led him out to the courtyard where Berg was already waiting. Mareike waved to him as she clattered out of the courtyard and Petrovna nodded from the back of her thestral. He swung up easily, wondering briefly when he’d grown tall enough to reach the stirrup without a step before riding from the courtyard.

Beasts were picking up on their rider’s excitement, prancing and flapping their wings beneath the glorious sunshine. Gellert cantered Kelpie along the ridgeline whilst Berg swooped above him, wings rusting Gellert’s hair. He released the reins, laying back so that he was flat along Kelpie’s rump and looking up into the blue sky.

He was free and they were going to Hexemeer for the first time since his father had gone.

There were already crowds of students and their parents crammed into the small clearing near the portal. Hermione and his mother were unmissable; Katana kept screeching and flapping his silver wings and it looked like the young witch was fighting to keep him from taking flight. He shook his head, laughing.

Then he noticed that Hermione wasn’t wearing her crown.

He tired to dismiss it, but suddenly the sun seemed just a little less golden and the wind seemed to blow a little colder. Her crown was her most powerful defensive shield and she was out in public without it when they knew she was a prime target for the revolutionaries.

‘Where’s your crown?’ He demanded as soon as he was close to her. Her brows pulled together.

‘Hello to you too, Gellert. I had a wonderful term, thank you and I am really looking forwards to the summer holidays.’ She replied dryly. He waved his hand in dismissal, did she not understand how dangerous it was? He could see Alice across the clearing, and she had clearly noticed the lack of crown as well.

‘Why aren’t you wearing your crown?’ He demanded again. Hermione made a noise of derision.

‘If you must know, I ended up duelling an undead dark wizard at school and the enchantments on it were broken.’ She very deliberately ignored him after that, taking advantage of Katana’s massive height and long legs to catch up with Berg.

‘Your sister is neither foolish nor weak, Gellert.’ His mother said, riding her Granian up next to him. ‘You should give her more credit.’

‘But... a dark wizard in her school... why didn’t she tell me?’ He asked. There was a cold, sick feeling in his chest and he felt very unsteady on his beast.

‘From what I gathered through the hysterical tears, the dark wizard was possessing one of her teachers. She didn’t know until he threatened to kill one of her classmates.’ His mother said mildly. ‘I’m sure that if the incident had happened more than three days ago, she would have told you all about it by owl.’

‘Oh.’ He felt rather guilty now but at least the horrible cold feeling was gone. ‘She wasn’t hurt, was she?’

‘I did not see the healer’s report, but I know that she accidentally performed an exorcism without any ritual or regents. She would have suffered from a magical exhaustion at least. Her crown seems to have taken the worst of the damage.’ His mother shook her head incredulously. ‘That’s three dark wizards she’s duelled before twelve.’

‘We need to find something to replace the crown; some other kind of protective ward.’ He fretted.

‘She’d got Mordred’s sword hidden somewhere under that cloak. Between him, Katana and myself, there is very little that could get through to her.’ His mother said shortly, ‘not to mention her own prodigious power. Whilst your heart is in the right place, your approach is more than a little patronising.’

Hermione and Berg had reached the portal and Gellert and his mother trotted their beasts forwards to catch up.

‘Where to?’ A very bored teacher asked.

‘Hexemere.’ His mother informed the teacher sharply. The teacher blinked a couple of times.

‘Hagalaz, Ehwaz, Kaunaz, Sowulo.’ Hermione reminded, her tone only fractionally more forgiving than his mother’s. The teacher fumbled to open the gate with the supplied runes and a moment later they rode through into the open expanse of Hexemeer.

The island had once been his family’s summer retreat; it was where his mother and father had courted and where he had supposedly been conceived. They had visited every summer when he was a child, up until his father had begun his rampage and forced his mother and her coven to hunt him down.

He’d always loved it here; the island was unplottable, somewhere in the Baltic Sea. The island was just large enough to allow a comfortable ride around the perimeter, along the powdery sand of the beaches where lazy seals lounged in the sun. There was nothing else on the island apart from their property - a sprawling collection of whitewashed cottages that were huddled around the base of a towering lighthouse on the north end of the isle where the land abruptly swept upwards like a breaking wave. It was built on craggy cliffs which overlooked a bay full of savage rocks and the shattered hulls of muggle ships, cleverly disguising a quidditch pitch between the pincer-like arms of land.

Hermione took off as soon as their beast’s hooves touched the sandy soil, surging up into the air with a snap of Katana’s mighty wingspan. Clearly, he wouldn’t be apologising to her until she’d exhausted her beast, then tended to him. Hopefully her anger would wash away rather than building with time.

Berg followed only a moment afterwards, soaring across the isle to investigate the ritual circle. His mother took off a beat later, her Granian headed straight for the houses. Gellert was left alone to ride across the ground, picking along the slightly overgrown track.

Even if he did have a flying beast, he didn’t think he would be able to fly right now; the buoyancy of that morning had morphed into a leaden weight. Already, Hermione was angry with him, he’d failed to protect her from a dark wizard in her school, his mother disapproved of his behaviour and even Kelpie was miserable because he’d had to leave Durmstrang and it’s resident Mer village.

He turned Kelpie’s head, allowing him to clamber up the banks and nudged him into a canter. Even the wind whipping through his hair and the powerful surging of the beast beneath him couldn’t improve his mood.

They reached the beach in moments, Kelpie adapting easily to the sand as Gellert steered him towards the harder surface of the shallows. He’d done this every morning as a child, cantering his pony through the surf with his mother and father on their own beasts ahead of him, throwing up spray and clods of sand and spoiling their robes even as they laughed with the joy of freedom.

If anything the memory made him feel worse and now that he had Kelpie’s ground-swallowing stride beneath him, they were fast approaching the end of the beach. He reigned in his beast and dismounted, dropping Kelpie’s reins and trudging through the soft sand to where a pile of small stones littered the beach. He picked one up, weighed it in his hand then hurled it at a larger rock. The two ricocheted apart, one landing with a slop slightly further down the beach whilst the other struck him in the ankle, right where his shoe ended. He cursed, picking up the rock again and hurling it down the beach where it hit a much larger rock. The smaller stone punched through the rock with a sound like a thunderclap and Gellert huffed in irritated disbelief.

‘Accidental magic, Gellert?’ Hermione’s voice called from the dune above.

He spun on his heel, almost toppling as the sand collapsed beneath his foot, to see her looking down at him. Her arms were crossed, her long riding cloak snapping around her like dark fire. Katana stood at her shoulder, draconic head snaking around her shoulder as he nuzzled her pockets in search of treats.

He couldn’t imagine a better witch.

‘Hermione!’ He found himself gasping and stumbling up the dune towards her, feet slipping on the sand as his hands snatched at loosely rooted sea grasses. Finally, painfully, he was at her level, looking at her wind blown hair and cool eyes. ‘I’m sorry Hermione. I shouldn’t have doubted your ability to protect yourself, I should have let you explain everything.’

‘It’s okay, Gellert.’ She finally said, her magic wrapping around his in as tight a hug as her physical one. ‘You were worried about me. I should have explained what had happened earlier, perhaps send a message through the floo.’

Then, after a moment more of awkward eye contact where neither could quite decide what to do, Gellert stepped forwards and wrapped her into a hug of his own.

‘I really missed you.’ He admitted. ‘School is full of such imbeciles.’

‘Imbeciles. I like that word, sounds like something my potions master would say.’ Hermione giggled. ‘I had to deal with lots of imbeciles too - mostly that cow of a headmaster.’

‘What’s happened now?’ Gellert asked, falling back into the familiar territory of complaining about their teachers.

‘He awarded house points!’ She hissed. ‘Come on, lets do that riding in the sea thing that you were doing a moment ago, otherwise I’ll make a second hole in that rock over there.’

He gave her a leg up onto Katana, noticing that whilst he was now tall enough to mount Kelpie unassisted, the fractionally taller Longma would still be beyond his reach. Hermione descended the dune in a single large bound and Gellert skidded after her, filling his shoes with sand as he went. He solved the situation by tearing them off before he sprung up onto Kelpie’s back, knocking his chin against his knee several times as he tried to pull off his socks whilst trotting after her.

‘So... house points? I thought those were a good thing?’ He asked as he slowed his beast to a walk beside her.

‘They are, and my house was winning by one hundred points. Then, he awarded points for stopping the dark wizard! Ron got fifty for sacrificing himself to get us through one of the sets of defences, then Neville got fifty as well for rescuing him, then I only got fifty even though I actually duelled the dark wizard. Then, he gave Harry sixty... he got more points than me just for hiding behind a pillar and using my sword to smash a mirror.’

‘That is unfair.’ Gellert agreed.

‘So, conveniently, Gryffindor get one hundred and sixty points, whilst my house - whom he hates of course - only gets fifty, despite it being me who rescued them from the devil’s snare, me who figured out which potions would get us through the fire, me who duelled a dark wizard and me who almost killed myself performing an exorcism.’

She was sobbing and he couldn’t tell if she was furious, sad or in some kind of delayed shock; perhaps a combination of all three. He couldn’t hug her from different mounts, but he could reach his magic out and coax in into wrapping around her in a strange imitation. He was rewarded by a slight upward turn in the corners of her mouth.

‘I know that’s awful and unfair, but it’s just school. You are Hermione of Gorlois and they will tremble at your name, the headmaster will be but a chapter.’

Victory. Hermione smiled.

‘True.’ She conceded.

‘Let’s go and stable the beasts. I want to show you the caves.’

‘Caves?’ Hermione asked eagerly.

‘Yes, come on, race you?’

‘Oh, you’re on.’ Hermione vowed. Katana leapt skywards in a storm of wet sand and water and Gellert spun Kelpie on his heel, sending him surging down the beach towards the closest track. Hermione would win of course; not only was her beast blindingly fast, she could also fly straight there whilst Gellert had to take a long, circuitous route. He didn’t really mind though, he always relished moving fast on his beast, bent low over his dark neck and feeling the pull and surge of muscles beneath his legs.

Predictably, he arrived several minutes after Hermione and Berg landed a moment later having seen them both darting towards the buildings.

‘What’s going on?’ He demanded, swinging of his hippogriff.

‘Gellert’s showing me the caves.’ Hermione answered, already struggling to pull off Katana’s saddle.

‘That sounds amazing! Here, Hermione, let me.’

‘I can do it!’

‘Of course you can, but that doesn’t make it polite for me to stand and watch.’ Berg brushed her aside and managed to lift off the saddle. Hermione huffed irritably but thanked him all the same, then led Katana into the stables and picked out an empty stall for him - one that had a window looking out over the sea. Gellert pulled off his own saddle, leaving it outside to be washed of salt and followed her, stabling his beast next to hers.

‘I need to change out of this cloak and dress.’ Hermione decided, inspecting the damp hem of her formal clothing and Gellert nodded.

‘Me too, and I’ll grab us some broomsticks too. Have you been shown to your rooms?’

‘Not yet.’

Gellert summoned her elf for her, asking directions to where they would be staying. Flighty babbled away happily to Hermione in English as they walked, talking so quickly that Gellert could only catch every couple of words. He was reasonably sure that Hermione was being given a rundown of the cooking and laundry facilities on the island, although why she tolerated such mundane chatter from her elf he would never understand.

They were led to one of the cottages; whitewashed walls almost glowed in the sunlight in sharp contrast to the dark slate roof and tarred wooden door. The elf swung the door open, bowing deeply to let them in.

The main room of the cottage was large and light, the ceiling charmed to be transparent in one direction. One wall had been painted with a stunning seascape, little painted waves lapping at the windowsills and wind-blown grass rippling like silver streamers. The opposite wall held bookshelves and a couple more paintings, one of a lazy water dragon draped over rocks and another of a sunset sailing ship. There was no fireplace, but the the sky blue upholstered chairs were arranged around a second, double door which he knew led out to the shaded deck. Lined up next to the double door were a selection of wicker chairs which were suitable for the outside and a hook to hold a sun hat, parasol and towel. He could already imagine Hermione’s scoff when she realised what the folded lace umbrella was meant to be for.

Another door led them into her bedroom - this one had an entire wall enchanted to provide a panoramic view of the cliffs and the glittering sea beyond. It was hung with blue curtains, that could be drawn across to block out the light. The bed was made up in matching colours, and there was a large writing desk which looked out through the magical window. The real window had been thrown open to allow a fresh sea breeze to billow through, rustling the tapestry of a sea goddess on the far wall and the curtains which concealed what Gellert knew to be a luxurious bathroom from his own rooms.

‘Do we all get a cottage to ourselves?’ Hermione asked after a moment and Gellert nodded.

‘There’s five accomodation houses and four public houses; one has a music and a games room, one for us to have our summer classes in, a dining room and a library. There’s a grotto too, built into the cliffs that stays nice and cool, and the caves themselves which is where the elves work.’

‘I love it.’ Hermione announced. ‘Give me a moment to change and we can go and see these caves.’

Gellert obliged, hurrying to his own set of rooms to change out of his own formal clothing. His rooms were almost identical, with the exception of the artwork and the sliver of cliff top that curled around into the left hand side of his panoramic view. He ignored all of this, shrugging of his soaking wet clothes and changing quickly into shorts and a light, billowing shirt. His elf shoved a straw hat into his hands as he left, scolding words about sunburn echoing behind him as he jogged back over to Hermione’s

Hermione took a little longer to change, as all women did when they had to worry about petticoats and overskirts. Eventually she emerged in a very Grecian pale grey dress that flowed down to her feet and made her look very adult. She wore a wide brimmed white sun hat, but predictably had forgone the parasol. Berg joined them a moment later, dressed very similarly to Gellert and they headed over to the broom shed to grab broomsticks.

Gellert really disliked flying, almost as much as Hermione who was almost comical in her hatred of what she called ‘magic wedgie sticks.’ He had no idea what a wedgie was, but she spoke it with enough scorn that he could guess it wasn’t a good thing. Unfortunately, broomsticks were the only way down to the cove at the base of the cliffs.

They flew down as quickly as possible, touching down on the rocky beach softly and leaving their brooms up against the cliff. It was quite loud down at the bottom of the cliffs - the gentle rush of waves against pebbles echoed against the cliffs and the wind, despite being gentle, whistled strangely.

‘Look, this wreck must have been recent!’ Berg held up a cracked clay jar, still full of sticky jam.

‘Really recent.’ Hermione agreed, crunching across the rocks to pick up a sodden book. ‘You don’t think there’ll be... bodies here do you?’ She asked nervously, glancing around as if expecting to see a leering skeleton at any moment.

‘No.’ Berg said, sounding faint. Gellert followed his trembling, raised arm towards the furthest and largest cave. Seven gaunt figures were huddled just inside the entrance, unmistakably alive and watching them.

‘Hide the broomsticks.’ Hermione ordered quickly. ‘Muggles associate them with witches, and don’t use your wand.’

Three of the muggles split off, emerging from the cave and began crossing the beach towards them. They carried large knives, but they were sheathed and he noticed that the ones inside the cave carried the long muggle wands that he’d seen in his dreams. The leader wore a dark blue and gold jacket which matched trousers that had perhaps once been neat. The two men to either side of him were rougher with grubby brown trousers and stained shirts. Gellert sent a tendril of magic, concealing their brooms as more bits of debris, then readied himself to cast a magical shield to defend against the curses that he knew those muggle wands could cast as Hermione stepped forwards to meet the muggles.

‘Mi’lady.’ The leader greeted. He spoke English, slowly and loudly as if he had no idea what country he had washed up in. ‘I am Captain Granger, of the Moira.’

The man must be a relative of hers, they shared the same name and language and Hermione clearly knew the name, even if the muggle didn’t recognise her.

‘Oh.’ Hermione uttered quietly. ‘Gellert, we need to speak to your mother, urgently.’ She turned to him quickly.

‘I know.’ Gellert said sombrely.

‘Do you speak English?’ Hermione’s relative asked, ‘Français?’

‘English.’ Hermione replied faintly. ‘I do speak English. Forgive me, I did not expect to see you here.’

‘Of course, Mi’lady. Do you have a name?’ The man bowed lowly, and Hermione bit her lip.

‘My name is Hermione. My companions are Gellert and Berg.’

‘Do you have food and water? We are low on supplies and we have several injured.’

‘I can speak to my matriarch.’ Was all Hermione said, remarkably collected considering it was one of her relatives that she’d discovered shipwrecked on the beach. Berg shared a significant look with Gellert behind her back; this was certain to get messy because the statute of secrecy made it very clear that they could not magically assist the muggles, but it was very unlikely Hermione would leave them here.

‘Perhaps I could meet with her?’ The captain suggested and Hermione shook her head.

‘Flighty. Take us home.’ She ordered imperiously. Gellert’s eyes widened in surprise, then Hermione took a firm hold on his wrist and they were torn through the magical plane, reappearing just outside Lady Grindelwald’s cottage.

‘Hermione!’ Berg moaned in dismay. ‘The statute of secrecy.’

‘I know. I need to speak with Lady Grindelwald, alone.’ Then she dropped their hands and pushed through the door to his mother’s rooms.


End file.
